Sighs of the Neglected Flower
by nuhuh
Summary: What if Voldemort complied with Snape's wish on Halloween 1981? What if the Harry we know used the Resurrection Stone at the same time as a heart broken Lily? Two different eras, two different realities...Post DH
1. Chapter 1

**Sighs of the Neglected Flower**

_**Prologue:**_

The ticking and whirring of devices formed background noise to the almost real storm of rage in her mind. She looked at these merrily sounding silver instruments with misdirected disgust.

"Shut-up!" she bit her words out separately; and to her surprise the instruments did just that. With a small apologetic 'peep' they each quieted. She sighed having lost the target of her anger; and with that expelling breath she lost her outrage too. It was replaced by her familiar companions of grief and of deep loss, but today a desperate disappointment took home as well.

Hot tears ran down her stricken face, her green eyes reflected the setting sun streaming through the high windows of the peculiar office. It was the same look that had forced her erstwhile headmaster from his very own office.

Two years it had been since she had lost her family because of the ramblings of some Seer; who had predicted her child to be the bane of the marauding Dark Lord. And now she was being asked for another child; asked to 'breed' them a savior.

Her silence and look of outrage was enough to make the man 'requesting' this 'service' of her to apologize and leave her to think on what he'd asked.

Many emotions crossed her face but betrayal and heart break were dominant. Even those she had turned to in this time of complete loss were busy with war and worries for their own blood and love. With no real hand to hold hers she turned to what was left; and since then been a good follower of her old teacher, working in his Order. But even that strength and the faith she had put wherein failed her today.

Looking back on all the truths revealed after the murders of her son and husband she knew she should not have trusted her leader. But she had hoped that he was faithful to her, having nothing else she had clung to him and the Order that he commanded.

But now they wanted her to be the incubator for a hero.

Because the last one she bore was killed.

With that thought she sobbed, hating Albus Dumbledore for letting her down; hating him to expect her to accept another man in her bed, to bear a child from him. She sobbed and despised herself for being broken like this, for being vulnerable enough to be taken advantage of. Of all people why did it have to be Dumbledore who wanted this disgusting duty from her?

He had not revealed whose seed he expected her to take.

"I will castrate the bastard before he even looks at me," Lilly Evans Potter swore with feeling; imagining a faceless man.

Suddenly she snapped her hair back from where it had been hanging in front of her like a tangled veil, a determined glint in her eye. She was not going to let anyone take advantage of her grief or her being without a family in the wizarding world. It was sad that even in this time without a blood relative or someone by marriage in the magical world left her less protected. A lone witch could be pushed, harassed and no one would know better.

For a moment the thought of another baby crossed her mind and her eyes softened in a sad smile. Knowing what she did now of her own allies and even more of her enemies she would never set her child up to be Voldemort's killer, never.

No child deserved that, not her child, least of all. With that she thought of her green eyed child, his baby face overwhelmed by hair he had inherited from his father. She no longer could see the great desk in front of her but saw her son in her mind's eye, his face screwed up in some tantrum. She laughed and reached out into space as if to ruffle his hair. She began to hum and sing in a watery halting voice.

_Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight  
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed  
_  
She reached and only found thin air, her hand fell on the many trinkets sitting on Dumbledore's desk, and with that solid touch the vision of her son faded. The sudden jerk from her day dream made her curl her hand around a stone sitting on the desk in frustration. She pulled her hand back to her stomach holding the etched stone and stared out blankly thinking on her son.

"Lullaby and good night, thy mother's delight," she whispered, wanting nothing more than to hold him again. To be secure feeling the tiny body's clutching hands around her neck.

"Come back, please come back," she begged, turning over the strange stone in her hand; never knowing that what she held was the resurrection stone, and uncountable sands of time and breadths of space away another of her blood was turning the Resurrection Stone too.

….

….

He was going to sacrifice him self.

There was no other way; the last part of Voldemort's soul was in him. It was always meant to end this way.

It was a good thing Hermione and Ron weren't with him, it would be hard explaining what he had to do. But before he died he wanted to see the ones who'd died before him, maybe find out what it's like. So he held the Resurrection Stone.

Anxious to see his fallen loved ones again,

He turned it once,

He turned it twice,

_She turned it thrice, 'Come back to me!'_

He turned it a third time and the earth beneath his feet was sucked away and he fell.

Screaming against the dirt rushing past him and pressing him, he fainted; feeling last the amazing pressure of soil and rock filling around him and hurtling him through to the core.

And then he was no longer in his place, in his time, in his world.

…

…

The etching on the stone was leaving an imprint on her smooth palm and she was still wishing for her baby to come back when the floor underneath her feet fell away; she jumped back with a shriek. Just as soon as the hole had formed it closed, only above it now rested a body.

Lily drew her wand and crept forward, her heart thudded loudly in her ears. She imagined echoes of her own scream, and cursed herself for giving away that she was there. The body lay neatly in the space between the visitor chairs and the Headmaster's desk. Keeping him marked she went around behind his head, thinking he would have a harder time aiming for her over his head if he was pretending to be dead.

Last rays of the sunset fell upon the glasses of the boy and the black stone in his hand glinted. Something like petrifying terror seeped into her blood and she realized it when she noticed herself leaning on the chair having lost her wand, staring at a very recognizable face under grime and sweat.

Tension built up between her eyes and she swooned but held herself unwilling to look away from someone with incredible likeness to her husband, and more, carrying a scar that had covered the body of her murdered son. She opened her mouth in an attempt to scream and fell on her knees by his head, silently – the scream having died in her throat.

In the same way she had before she tried to reach to ruffle the hair and noticed finally the stone in her hand. As soon as she saw it, her hand spasmed and it fell clattering and rolling next to the hand of the boy holding a stone just like the one she had.

* * *

A.N. Much thanks to Typa for being beta. 


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. Much thanks to Typa for being beta.

Chapter 2

She stared at the identical stones fixedly and guessed they had something to do with the sudden appearance; it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. Fearfully, she reached for his face and pressed her fingertips on his cheeks. Her breath hitched, knowing now that he was real.

Almost immediately, a strange sensation flowed from the tips of her fingers up to her body, and her back bowed from the strength of it. She was overcome with a sense of panic and fear, while her body felt like it was being used as a human tuning fork. Waves of vibrations flowed to her from where she touched the boy, not pleasant but not entirely unpleasant either. But through it all, the fear and overriding need to protect the boy she was touching overwhelmed her.

She wrenched her hands away from him and the sensation stopped and the fear disappeared. She looked at him wide eyed, breathing as if she had run miles, but she didn't notice that. She was too disturbed by the sound of a heartbeat other than her own racing in her ears, and with certainty she knew it was the heart of the boy.

"Cursed Morgana!" She gasped. "What? Who?" She stared at the still boy and raised her trembling hands as if she could see the nearly painful energy that had flowed through her. "Be safe, have to get you safe."

She was on her feet and rushing to his side again, had her arms under his shoulders and was dragging him up before she even thought of what she was doing. "Why? What do I have to get him safe from?" She she said, freezing in motion. The second heart thudding in her ears calmed down, slowing until it was steady.

She had shut her eyes sometime ago and laid her head between the boy's shoulders without realizing, listening to beats of the two hearts, one sounding after the other. Her arms had tightened around him to pick him up, but it was more like she was hugging him from behind while he slumped forward. She came to herself startled; he looked even more like James from behind, perfectly like James.

"Is it really you?" she whispered, half-hoping he would wake up and answer yes, and it was enough hope to get her moving. This time she took a moment to think of how to get him to safety. Holding him with one arm and her leg propped under him in an awkward angle, so he wouldn't slip, she cast a disillusionment charm and another to levitate him beside her.

Her hand freed, she walked out in a brisk pace, trying to hurry without seeming to. She sent a silent thanks to the headmaster for blanking the portraits in his office for their 'delicate' conversation, as he had called it. She gave tight smiles to the few who made eye contact with her; it was near the end of the school year and times were troubled; no one was too friendly. She ran into no one who knew her well enough to stop her to talk, even Snape, who slunk around the Headmaster's office anytime she was here, was absent.

She wiped the trails of tears on her face and brushed her hair with one free hand, wanting no one to stop her to ask what was wrong. They'd been asking for two years and she'd been saying 'nothing' for two years, but they never got the message. Out of the corner of her eye she kept looking for the disillusioned form she was levitating with the silly want to look at his face again, James' face, at James.

Giving up pretense she jogged out of the great doors and down the path to the main gates, unable to wait another second without seeing him again. She kept squinting against the bright glare of summer, doing a poor job of watching her surroundings. A known Order member or at least enemy of Death Eaters like her could never be too careful of sudden ambush.

A twenty-three year old witch in muggle clothes stood apart even in the sparse crowd and then her coppery red hair had always made her easy to find. A second of worried thought crossed her mind where she wondered what James would think of her having cut her hair short after his and Harry's murder. She couldn't bring herself to care after they'd died and in a fit of depression had cut it all off. Now it just about tickled the base of her head - suddenly she wished she had taken care of herself more.

Away from the castle gates, she gave a cursory glance in either direction before stretching towards the nearly invisible form of the boy and apparating with him side-long. She heard the second heart skip a beat in the middle of apparating and the moment they appeared in the dim hallway of her apartment she took off the charm to see if he was okay.

He was fine, or as well as he had been the first time she had seen him. Still grimy and bloody in places; he moaned in pain.

That behooved her to open the lock and levitate him through into her flat. It was a curiously unadorned place, no pictures or other decorations could be seen. The curtains were drawn and only the hazy orange light that the drapes couldn't quite hold back illuminated the simple furnishings. Lily found her way expertly through the mess of her own things left haphazardly in any place on the ground, again she agonized; she should have cared for everything better, including herself.

The only room in the house worth her own notice was her bedroom, and here was the odd sight of dozens of photographs in frames hung on the walls but all with their faced turned toward the walls, so one could only see the backs of the frames. A simple bed with white coverings sat made in one corner of the room. The open closet showed a sparse wardrobe. She levitated him to the bed and stopped just short of laying him on it.

After looking at him pensively for a second she turned on her feet and levitated him into the bathroom instead, like everything else in the flat it was simple and unadorned. She sent a charm at the faucet impatiently, warm water rushed out into the tub.

Then for the first time since the panic to get him safe had started, it slowed down when she caught herself with him in the mirror of the bathroom. She saw herself keeping him afloat with her wand, and for a moment it was like old times with James, her and him sharing the sink. Something heavy and tight settled in her throat and she turned away from the mirror to look at him, looking faint.

"I miss you so much," she said, holding her free hand to her mouth to hold back the threatening sobs. Then with determination she stepped to him and brought him closer with her magic, she started again where she had been and reached up for his hair. He was taller than her, being levitated off the ground, but she still reached him; her fingers threaded through his hair as she stood tiptoe. The texture and feel was too familiar, evoking so many memories she couldn't think but that part of her dream had come true, one of them had returned to her.

Running her fingers through she finally rested her hand next to his cheek and that sudden energy roared through her again. Her back bowed, she lost her magic; both the unconscious boy and she fell to the floor. Her chest heaved in fear and in the aftereffects of that unpleasant sensation of having even the smallest part of her being shaken from the rest.

Panic gripped her heart and the second heart she had been hearing since she had touched him the first time. Both raced, discordant and scaring her all the more over the panic and terror blinding her mind, leaving only the desperate need to protect him. She jumped, trembling from the energy, and summoned her wand with her hand and a forceful incantation.

She realized she hadn't set up the wards when she'd come back to the flat and in this moment that seemed a fatal mistake. She cast magic with speed borne of primal fear and recast protection charms three times before she stopped and gained a sense of herself again.

She stood in the doorway of the bathroom with one hand holding the frame to steady herself while she panted. Her white T-shirt over her pleated skirt was soaked with cold sweat. She rubbed her neck in a nervous gesture and felt the strangeness of not having her long hair there waiting to be brushed aside or tied up.

Finally she looked back into the bathroom to see the painfully familiar boy splayed on the tiled floor. Pressing her back against the door she slid down to sit on the floor and watched him in apprehension.

"Who are you?" she suddenly shouted, and her strained voice echoed in the bathroom.

She could see that though he looked like James he wasn't exactly like him, there were subtle differences she wasn't sure she could point out yet. But most of all this was someone younger and thinner than her husband had been when he'd died. Then there was the most horrifying feature of him, above his shut eyes and round glasses was a miniature of the scar that had marred the entire body of her baby. She ran her hand through her own hair in frustration and got even angrier when it wasn't the right length to be properly run through, it only came to the base of her head now, leaving her neck bare. Snape had said it looked good on her; she had hated it even more since then.

She crawled over to the body and mindlessly began getting him ready for the bath. She went to take off his glasses and stopped, fingers hovering over the spectacles; it was an odd intimate gesture between her and James. At night, in bed she would always take his glasses off before she kissed him. Burying that thought she took the nearly identical glasses off, but her skin still burned warm in memory of what usually followed this.

Deliberately keeping her eyes away from that awful scar she divested him of the cloak he was wearing. Underneath were muggle clothes, more difficult to undress than robes. She would have to touch his skin at some point if she was going to pull off his shirt and his jeans. Starting with something less troublesome she took off his shoes and socks, then grabbed her wand and just sat with a quizzical look.

Never before had she used magic to take off a man's clothes or her own. She didn't know quite how to go about it, there may have been a charm for it but she didn't recall seeing it. With a shrug she began experimenting with summoning, levitating, banishing the shirt and undershirt he was wearing. After struggling for ten minutes in which she positioned him uncomfortably, he was without his shirt, and she contemplated his body.

He was missing James's scars but had others which James did not have. He was even thinner without the clothes than he seemed with them on. Her hand drew to trace the long and deep scars on his arms but held back remembering what happened every time she touched his skin. Resting her hand firmly in her lap she just looked at him and finally realized that she was looking at a half naked boy on her bathroom floor. She blushed furiously and looked away, her emotions already troubled by how much he looked like the love of her life.

With forced clinical distance she attempted the same process with his jeans; swearing if it didn't work she would just vanish them. Apparently _Alohomora_ worked as well on belt buckles and buttons as it did on locks. Luckily the jeans at least came off when she summoned them and she piled them in a corner with the rest of his clothes. Now he was just in his boxers and she was forcibly reminded that she had someone who could be potentially masquerading as her husband in her bathroom, naked. She consoled herself with the fact that she had a wand and he was naked, being nude in a fight always throws off your concentration.

At least that is what Sirius used to say from his surprise duels with friends in the boys' communal bathrooms at Hogwarts. She blushed in memory of the explicit detail Sirius had provided of these magical brawls, apparently ambushing someone when they are naked in the shower is excellent strategy. Shaking her head to clear her wayward thoughts she levitated him into the tub of hot water.

For more her own sake than any concern for the boy's modesty she left the boxers on, they seemed clean anyway, compared to the rest of his clothes. He sank into the water and she kneeled by the head, taking off her heels so she could fold her legs under. With her wand she charmed soap and a bath sponge to clean him. The grime was washed away from his face and chest, the cuts here and there showed up worse over the cleaned skin. Shampoo in his hair made a riot of foam and bubbles in the water, while she directed the work with her wand, careful not to touch his skin; she did not want to feel the terror and panic that came with his touch.

But when the sponge came to his back she couldn't help herself and grabbed it from the air to wash him herself. This too was an intimate memory but she simply couldn't resist, and gently, with delicate care she cleaned away the sweat and troubles of battles she did not know he had been in. With smooth strokes she felt the contours of his body through the sponge and with that she touched him finally without any physical pain.

The busy sound of sloshing water and soap scrubbing around died away as she quietly and with building emotion took care of him. Looking at him from behind she couldn't see the difference between him and the man she'd buried. She had one leg in the water to join him, to hold him, to be held by him when the thought of what had happened the two times she'd touched his skin stopped her. She looked at him miserably, so close to what she needed and yet unable to grasp it. With a shuddering sigh she stepped out of the tub and drained the water while keeping her face away from the boy to collect herself. She felt weak, helpless and very alone.

Unable to just leave him wet in the tub she dried him with a few charms and went looking for something he could wear. There was only one place in her flat that she had men's clothes; she went to the small storage by the kitchenette. Pulling out packed boxes and suitcases, she hesitated on the ones she wanted; they were James's clothes. She refused to throw them away, but couldn't bear to keep them out either. The only other was a smaller suitcase of Harry's things, and even seeing that unopened was enough for a complete breakdown, she kept it in the far corner behind other things.

Braving her own grief she popped open the yellow suitcase and tried to look at the robes and things in it dispassionately. The day had been unfairly trying on her already. Usually she had herself wrapped in a cloak of cold distance that kept her safe, from behind which she dealt with her every day life, but today, Dumbledore first and then the appearance of this boy, had torn that away from her. Not wanting to touch her husband's clothes with her bare hands she used her wand to find an older robe of his he didn't favor. Taking it she escaped, leaving boxes and such from storage out in the hallway.

Another session of improvised magic and she had the familiar stranger in the large chocolate robe and had laid him on her bed. She watched him in the dim sunlight from behind the curtains, sleeping peacefully. The face and the way his body was in sleep so reminiscent of the one she'd lost that she couldn't but stand there transfixed.

Denying all sense and reason she gave into her heart. She climbed into bed without changing out of her clothes or even taking the time to take off her hose. The slightly bigger robe covered most of his hands, she opened his arms to make a place for herself, making sure that wherever she touched he was clothed, and then hugged him. She held him with all her might burying her face in his shoulder and putting his listless arms around herself, so that from the outside it looked like he was holding her too. But she didn't care, for the first time her bedroom smelled of home and she sank into it.

"Thank you," she whispered over and over again. For his smell was home, and regardless of what he looked like, that alone was enough truth for her.

She left caution and questions for another time, in this moment there were only the two hearts beating inside her and she was lulled to sleep by them.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_

This is the revised version. Taking in critiques from Tinn and Anna I have changed and added to the content a bit. Much thanks to Typa and Jeram for beta'ing. Also several of you didn't like the ending, so I have taken off the cheesy cliffhanger.

**Chapter 3**

_Hogwarts_

Albus Dumbledore took a ponderous route through his school, peripherally aware of the students who hushed and gave him a respectful space as he walked through the halls. Even at the height of the rush between changing classes, they slowed where they were running and either bowed their heads in awkward reverence or watched the venerated wizard with unabashed awe.

For him, he did not notice their deference and respect; he was preoccupied with the dying pangs of his conscience for what he had asked one of his most promising students to do.

_In the end it is all for the greater good_. He sighed in an unusual betrayal of his thoughts; most never saw anything but a benign smile on his face or in private the look of firm conviction.

At some point he had bowed his back and found himself looking at the stone flagstones of the hallways, he sighed again and at once realized what he had been doing. Calmly he straightened his posture and chastised himself for sighing out loud like some old retired biddy. Looking around he made certain no one had seen his moment of weakness; his blue gaze penetrated the shadows the architecture of the castle so conveniently formed, but he was alone.

Satisfied, he moved on, walking with great consideration and care. Soon he arrived at an old sanctuary, a place of secret comfort, the transfiguration classroom that he had used in his years as the teacher of the subject and now lay in disuse. He rested his hand just a moment on the tiring wood of the doors and felt the texture and age of them under the palm of his hand; it was reassuring.

The room had that typical smell of abandonment and of unstirred air; a fine layer of dust covered the neat rows of student desks and the teacher's table. Dumbledore gave a genuine but guilty smile. It was like the room had missed him and fallen to worse days now that he was not there; a simple, an ignoble sign that he had left his mark somewhere in the past.

He shook away such thoughts and need of reassurance that only men of lesser responsibilities could afford. He flicked and swung his wand with exaggerated style; watching with pleasure the dust disappear, the musty air replaced with a scented breeze and the windows crack open to let in sunlight.

Finally he walked up the wide aisles between the rows of desks and settled on top of his desk, in a fashion that would probably spread rumors of his eccentricities or gain him disapproving looks from Minerva. He chuckled at the imagery and people's insistence that he appear stately and act with decorum constantly.

But then his thoughts returned to Lily Potter, who he had just left in his office, finding it difficult to face her when she had looked at him with such a naked expression of betrayal.

"The good of many before that of one," he muttered to himself and a dark brooding look settled on his face. He remembered when he had once used a phrase with different words but the same meaning as this one and how terribly that had gone. "But she might be key to the prophecy or perhaps James Potter was…No, I will put my faith in the living. It must be a child of hers." And that look of firm conviction was on his face again.

Having lain to rest his doubts he drew a chocolate frog card from his pocket and spoke into it. "Please have Professor McGonagall come by the old transfiguration office. She should have a free period right now."

Waiting in silence he let himself immerse in memories evoked by his old classroom; there was a bemused and fond smile on his face. McGonagall entered the room warily and raised a questioning brow at the expression on the Headmaster's face. With a nostalgic smile of her own she threaded her way through the rows of desks and sat at a very particular one.

Dumbledore began to chuckle as he saw her take that specific chair and she gave a light laugh as well. He nodded to her in acknowledgment.

"It has been many years since that was your place Professor McGonagall. If I remember correctly, it was a very impatient and pert young lady that occupied that desk with incessant questions." Dumbledore pretended to be in deep thought and smiled conspiratorially.

McGonagall chuckled and leaned back in the student chair, dressed in her ever green robes.

"Was I truly that intolerable?" she asked.

"Of course not, I always try to encourage the natural curiosity of my students," Dumbledore replied.

"Even when its purpose is to test the limits of your patience?"

"Especially if that is the purpose, Minerva, but you knew that." It was Dumbledore's turn to arch his silvery brows at her.

"Of course, Headmaster. I never did succeed…but that was many years ago. I trust you called me for some purpose, we have little time for reminiscing." Her demeanor changed from indulgent to strict and businesslike. Dumbledore matched her expression and gave her a heavy look.

"There was a time when you sat in that desk there that your name was not McGonagall. Do you recall?" he asked and watched Minerva McGonagall stiffen and regard him with a dangerous look.

"As I said earlier, Headmaster, that is from a very, very long time ago." The inflections of her words left no doubt that she wanted this subject dropped.

"Indeed, I am sorry to bring history up like this. It took you time to discover the identity of your father and claim you family name-"

"That is ancient history," she snapped, interrupting him. Her nostrils flared and she stood from the student desk abruptly. All traces of previous humor absent.

"Most definitely, Minerva. I simply wish you to find your perhaps long forgotten research into the old pure blood family lines and their unclaimed connections with each other. I am in need of tracing all branches and roots of a family," he explained.

"There are many archivists at the Ministry. There can be no reason for you to ask me to dredge up that…that part of my life."

"No archivist has the records and traces you had discovered. I need to know the links that were hidden for one reason or another. It is imperative I have this information. Trust me, I would not ask you to relive the frustrations of your child hood," Dumbledore gently coaxed her.

"And what am I looking for? I do not believe I have everything that I once found," she asked giving in to the demand.

"The history of the Potters, find me everything you can. Any living members, however remote, that have a connection to them."

"But why?" she asked, bewildered. At a time they were beset by the evils of the Deatheaters, why would he want to know this?

"Trust me, Minerva. It is of great importance." And he said no more, gazing serenely at her askance face. Finally she nodded and left but he called her as she was about to leave the classroom. "He was proud to claim you, Minerva. It was his bitter regret that he did not know of your existence. Your father loved you very much and was very proud of the young woman who hunted him down."

Minerva turned on her heel and gave him a defiant and powerful look. "I know, Albus."

Dumbledore bowed and before he raised his head, his loyal deputy was gone.

"I must find a suitable match for her, a Potter male if I can. It may just be it is one of their line to defeat Tom. How I wish Severus was more successful with Lily…perhaps telling her the full truth was a mistake. I should have held back a little." With those last out loud thoughts to himself he left the room for his office. Ready to confront Lily Potter and convince her of bearing another child, imagining he had given her enough time to think.

Since it was middle of the class hour there was no one in the hallways and using passageways known only to the faculty he was soon at the door to his office. Taking a moment to brace himself he walked in.

"My dear, I hope…" he began and trailed off when he saw that Lily was not where he expected her. The chairs in front of his desk were out of place and he saw the Resurrection Stone lying on the ground. He picked it up, looking at it curiously, trying to build a logical picture of what might have happened while he was giving the young witch time to consider their conversation. Finally deciding that she was probably too distraught to continue the discussion, he placed the stone in a safer place than his desk and came to sit behind it.

"Severus…perhaps still has a chance. Win her over," he muttered, and with a sweep of his wand restored the portraits. They shouted down their appalled indignation at being blinded. Dumbledore went about assuaging their bruised egos, forgetting about having found the Resurrection Stone out of its place.

* * *

_Lily Potter's Flat_

It was late night, nearing early morning when she woke up; courtesy of the boisterous neighbors returning from another weekend night of drunken revelry. Her bedroom was dark, the drapes letting past none of the street lights outside her windows. Usually her neighbors' habits did not bother her…Typically their presence was a reminder of life moving on outside her own flat. For on most nights, at this hour, she would be sitting up, unable to be at rest with the thoughts of her loss and dreary day to day existence.

But tonight when she found herself relaxed in that special boneless way of complete contentment in a stranger's arms, she cursed their inebriated delinquencies to early and painful deaths. She sighed, feeling her hot breath bounce back from the boy's chest that she was snuggled in. She breathed in his smell; trying to hold on to this unique moment of peace.

She cursed the irony that a day's sleep where she felt safe had restored her emotional control enough that she could no longer fool herself that she was in the arms of her husband – but then he smelled so much like him. Her heart fought her mind to let her have this illusion; she hugged him closer, desperate to not lose the blissful peace her body and soul had found in the familiar stranger's arms.

But as such things go, once the doubt is seeded, it takes root; and with a defeated sigh she rolled away from him to the side of the bed flush against the wall. From the relative distance between them she peered at him in the darkness, not really able to make out much more than his outline. It was easier this way, when his painfully familiar features were shadowed, to think clearly. In fact, she thought to herself, everything had been tumultuous ever since she had set her sights on him.

The thought that he was an imposter struck her again and in a frantic movement she reached for her wand and cast a _Lumos_ charm. The white light at the end of her wand shone on the face of the sleeping boy…Other than looking like a younger version, it was James' face, with the scar that was on Harry's body. She shuddered and lost the warmth she had found in the many hours she had slept in his arms. Apprehensive and wary again, as she should have been throughout, she quietly stood off the bed away from him. Shining the light from her wand all over him, she tried to find some clue to the truth. Was this James, impossibly returned to her? But then why didn't Harry come back too?

She shook her head against these strange and unreal thoughts and stumbled out of her bedroom, knowing as long as she looked at him she would not be able to think rationally. Hitting the switches on the way to the kitchenette she lit up the electric lights of her flat, against her practice of only having candles. But tonight she wanted to be certain that the boy in her bed could not use any darkened corners to creep up on her.

With calm habitual movements she put the kettle on the boil and settled herself on the small two person table for a good think. At this hour of the night, she typically would have already been awake for several hours, sitting at the table just wide enough to slide one's knees under. A hot cup of tea was her solace at night; today she needed to think on the bizarre things that had happened. All from being asked for a child to possibly having her deepest wish realized.

In the harsher glare of the electric lights to candle's glow she took in the unkempt state of her cramped flat. Unwilling to be weighed down by how much she had ignored her wellbeing she cast a charm that in a series of 'clicks' shut off the muggle lights, leaving her in the safe gloom. The kettle whistled and she made tea by the light of the stove's fire.

Taking a few fortifying sips that satisfyingly warmed her insides she attempted to set aside the strong emotional effects of the past day and began to break down each and everything.

Only after a few short minutes she became frustrated and drew a parchment and quill to begin listing things chronologically…After five minutes when she got to the part about undressing the boy she blushed and diligently shredded the parchment and vanished it; getting rid of any evidence. She massaged her temples in small circles trying to ease the anxiety and impatience with herself.

Her eyes were drawn to a basin sitting on the window sill under which the table sat. Most times she kept her gaze studiously away from the innocuous looking bowl; she abhorred the reason she was given the device. For that is what it's not so plain nature was, it was a magical device, a pensieve. Albus Dumbledore had lent it to her to commit her horrific memories of 'that' night to, so she could heal. The venerable man had thought it a helpful gift, she had thought it an insult to James and Harry; to be cast aside and bottled away.

But right now it would be helpful, she begrudgingly admitted to herself. Standing to retrieve it off the sill she noted a thick layer of dust on the sill but nothing in the pensieve itself. "So you keep yourself magically clean. Convenient," she said the word as if it wasn't really a good quality.

Without agonizing over it too long, she brought the tip of her wand to her head and drew the liquiesque substance of memories. The memories undulated in the pensieve giving off sparkling light; Lily looked at them mesmerized for a moment before plunging in.

At once she felt as if she had taken a dive off a cliff and was hurtling down into the office of the Headmaster in her memory. With a sudden stop she found herself sitting in the visitor chair in front of a grave looking Albus Dumbledore. Next to her was the pensieve version of herself.

"Please think on it my dear, it may very well be the only thing we can do. The necessary thing…" Albus Dumbledore said gently and stood from his chair to quietly leave the office. Lily saw her own self huddled in the chair, slowly but surely breaking down. She looked away from this memory of herself, not wanting to see herself weak and at a loss.  
_  
_She had thought on it enough to know that she wanted to see her memory of grabbing the stone, and the times that she touched the boy. She watched herself in grip of grief hallucinate that her dead baby was in front of her and reach out to him; her heart filled with pity for herself and disgust at how forlorn she looked.

Resisting the desire to focus on anything in the room but herself, she watched herself clutch the stone, and almost chant in pain 'Come back to me, come back to me.' The pain that was never too far away cut her again, and she felt desperate to have Harry back, just as she had in the memory.

Just then the floor of the office expelled the boy right under her feet, and quite clearly he was holding the same stone she was, and it too had the same etchings. Finally having something to focus on than herself she kneeled down and frowned at it, furrowing her fine copper brows; as if her intense concentration would force the stone to give up its secrets.

She huffed in impatience, blowing away the fringe of her hair falling in her eyes and stood away. When the memory got to the part where she had touched the boy's face, she tensed and fell into a defensive stance. Bending her knees fractionally, to absorb the force of a magical or physical blow; she reached for her wand.

Lily's delicate lips were set in an apprehensive frown as she saw her body tremble with the powerful vibrating force that came from the boy. Her skin had practically rippled from the near-painful waves. Lily had her willow wand marking the boy in the memory but where her hand was usually steady it shook now, because she felt like she was thinking of attacking James.

Controlling her natural reaction to blast away someone harming her she balled her hands and brought the wand to her side; working her jaw in an angry gesture. For the rest of the memory in the pensieve she kept her instincts in control to make certain she understood her reactions to the boy.

It seemed that anytime she touched his skin, some magical energy attacked her, making her feel not so much pain but great discomfort. But it was the after effects of touching him that made her anxious, and she stood running her canine over her lower lip in thought over it.

Both times she had touched him she had been filled with terror and an irrational compulsion to protect him. _The stone, it has to do something with the stone._

She was still in her own memory when she saw herself put the boy to bed. As she watched a desperate need to hold him, and be near him coursed through her blood, making her sigh wistfully. "Why do you look like James? Why do you smell like him?"

Turning away from the memory before her want for James and Harry overtook her again, she left the pensieve.

She needed him and he smelled of home, those two things were not something he caused in her when they touched. She found herself vulnerable and wanting to go back into the bedroom and just…watch him. Sighing, she drank the remains of her tepid tea, resisting the urge.

There was a 'meow' by her feet and she looked down to find her grey and white kitten looking up at her. She reached down and the kitten hopped on her hand and into her lap where it curled up after winking at her. Guiltily she looked at the saucer on the floor of the kitchenette and was relieved to see there was some food in it still; at least her kitten hadn't gone hungry. She petted it absently, but the smooth motion relaxed her, and the small cat purred in pleasure.

She had owned the kitten for nearly four years but it had never grown, staying the adorable age and tiny size. Other than that curiosity, it also had a habit of winking at her in greeting. The kneezle breeder that she had gotten him off of had told her the kitten was at least one –eighth kneezle. It was no use to the breeder and he had been happy to let it go for free. Only magical thing _Paddy_ had done since she had him was stay young and wink, and that was amusing enough. That and survive her home's destruction Halloween '81, two years ago.

The thought brought her back to the boy lying in her room. Two things she now knew: one, that his coming had something to do with those stones and second that touching him filled her with terror and an irrational impulse to protect him. What she did not know was his identity…and that was the next thing she was going to figure out.

Hanging right in the entrance of the flat was a lone cloak, stained and threadbare. She went to it with a sense of purpose; the same sense she got whenever she put it on. It was what she always wore on missions for the Order. Over the years of her membership in the Order it had acquired small modifications here and there that made it invaluable in a fight.

From the inside right sleeve, tied in a leather thong was her back-up wand, James' wand. On the other end, the inside had rows of snug holsters for potion vials and other small ingredients. One more pocket held semi-precious gems with runes carved on them or in their depths. She had cast such charms as she knew on the outside of the cloak to protect her when she was thrown or attacked with fire. The worn look was deliberate, so no one mistook the cloak for anything more than what it seemed.

She reached for the rows of vials, always kept replenished by her and fished out the one holding Veritaserum, and another powerful petrifying potion, which required an antidote to release the victim. Paddy followed, staying close to her ankles. She stood for a long moment staring down the short hallway to the door of her bedroom, wondering if she would become undone if she saw him again.

Gritting her teeth she stalked down the hall and banged the bedroom door open.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

A.N. Much thanks to the many proof readers, in particular to Silent and Typa, and as always Vash and Jon.

Recap:

_She reached for the rows of vials, always kept replenished by her and fished out the one holding Veritaserum, and another powerful petrifying potion, which required an antidote to release the victim. Paddy followed, staying close to her ankles. She stood for a long moment staring down the short hallway to the door of her bedroom, wondering if she would become undone if she saw him again._

_Gritting her teeth she stalked down the hall and banged the bedroom door open._

**Chapter 4**

Harry woke up when he felt the cold of Lily's absence. He didn't know that it was her he was missing, but some instinct made him touch the warm space beside him in search of whoever had been there.

Slowly his mind began to catch up with where he was; he felt like he had had an amazing sleep after being exhausted to the bone. He turned from his side to his back on the bed and noticed the loose fitting robes on himself. In the dark he tentatively patted himself over, trying to figure out by touch if he was alright.

Finding his right hand cramped he moved his fingers to send some blood and feeling into them. He felt the texture of the Resurrection Stone and suddenly it all came back to him. He jumped off the bed and to his feet, staring around in the dark with wide eyes. Frantically he searched the pockets of the unfamiliar robes for his wand, feeling that primal fear brought on by not being able to see.

Knowing now that he hadn't his wand he became more cautious and wary of making noises. Forcing his breathing to calm he crouched a little and with an exploring arm out in front began walking. He bumped into the bed again and using that as a guide he found the wall and followed that until he came to the door.

Here he paused, with his free hand on the knob, taking just a moment to think through the idea of just jerking the door back and running out. His shoulder brushed against a switch while he was leaning against the door trying to remember what had happened between seeing Snape's memories in Dumbledore's pensieve and ending up in an unlit room. Slowly he flipped it and waited with baited breath for whoever his jailor was, for he had assumed that he had been taken somewhere against his will.

It took him a second to realize that he was looking at a normal bedroom, and he relaxed, but then he saw the dozens of frames on the walls with their faces turned away. Finding it strange, he curiously grabbed the corner of one and turned it over to find an image of his parents lounging in a couch.

He stared at the picture he had never seen before and carefully turned another picture over to find his parents again but now with himself as a baby. A prickly cold feeling crawled down his back and quickly he turned over more and more of the pictures until he was standing in the middle of the room with his mouth agape. All around him were scenes from his family's life, a few pictures he actually recognized as ones in his own album.

He turned once and then twice to take in the room. Besides never having seen it before it felt like he belonged there, surrounded by all the smiling faces. His vision was still blurred so he looked for his glasses. Keeping the stone firmly in his hand he puzzled over where he'd found himself.

Seeing the bathroom door he cautiously entered it to find his things on the floor and counter. Setting his glasses securely on the bridge of his nose he found the wand he'd taken from Draco Malfoy. He also found the wallet Hagrid had gifted him and quickly searched inside it to find all his precious belongings were there.

Hurriedly he took out the album he had put in it and matched the pictures inside with the ones on the walls. Some were perfect matches.

"But I was going into the Forbidden Forest. How did I get here?" He stood in the room trying to find the answer. In his mind he went over the knowledge that the only way to save his friends was to die and kill the part of Voldemort's soul in him.

A cold dread gripped in his heart. He was still ready to do what he needed to, but in the room surrounded by happy photographs, facing Voldemort was such a depressing thought.

"I suppose having to die can making you feel that way," he mused. Then he remembered what he had been doing before he lost consciousness. "I wanted to know if dying hurts. The stone! I was turning the stone to call…" he trailed off thinking of Sirius and his parents, and realized now Remus was with them too. Just then the door burst in, and he set his eyes on the furious face of woman in muggle clothes and short red hair.

Thread-like blue magical sparks fell off her wand, she looked at him visibly shocked. As if she hadn't expected him to be there.

"You're up?" she asked herself.

Surprised to find it wasn't a Death Eater on the other side of the door, Harry answered, "Umm, yes?"

Hearing him speak startled her out of her momentary shock and she swung the wand forward as she dove into the room. A blue bolt twisted towards him and split in three, aiming for his head, heart, and the last swinging around to hit him in the back.  
An instant before the spells connected, he threw up his hands to protect his face. The split bolts struck, but he felt them brush over him like a warm wind.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, trying to figure out who she was and why she was attacking him.

She cast another spell and this time he ducked, but not quite quick enough for the iron chains erupting around his feet, slamming into him, and throwing him to the ground. But, as soon as they curled around, putting their oppressive weight on him, they turned to dust and Harry sat up, spitting the transfigured dirt out of his mouth.

He felt the point of a wand jab into his throat. The woman was next to him in a half crouch, sending a clear message with how her tensed body that she was ready to pounce. He looked up into her bewildered but fierce green eyes framed by her coppery red hair, and felt an unshakeable sense of familiarity.

She sent a petrifying hex at him which didn't matter much as he was frozen taking in the sight of her. There was a thrill going through him he couldn't understand, his blood rushed from the sheer thought that he knew her with every part of his being. She was breathing hard. It was difficult to ignore her chest rising and falling under the fawn camisole, against which her creamy skin showed in contrast. He raised his hand slowly in a show of surrender and it startled her; she had thought the petrifying spell worked.

She jumped back, but tripped on her bunched skirt and fell on her side. This did not stop her from cursing him again.

"Stupefy."

The red spell hit him in the face and he sneezed, but it did nothing more than that. Harry balked away from her growl of frustration, but there was nowhere to go except one, open door she stood to the side of. He took his chance.

She did not expect him to run, and he was past her into the small corridor and to the main door before she attacked again, fast on his heels.

Harry saw the door he was running toward turn into a brick wall, and steel bars come up from the floor in front of it, completely blocking his escape.

He swore out loud and whipped around, angry and confused about the feeling he needed to know who she was. His arms trembled from adrenaline and feeling he was standing at the edge of some incredible precipice. He finally shouted the ridiculous thought in his mind.

"You…you look like my mother, Lily Potter. Who are you?" he demanded furiously.

"You're not going anywhere until I find out who you are!" she yelled at the same time.

There was dead silence in the small hall. Harry stared at his mother, having recognized her but knowing it was impossible it was really her. She was watching him with a dumfounded expression, her wand wavering in front of her.

Harry put up his hands. "I won't go anywhere. Can you please stop attacking me now?" he snapped. In his mind he cursed himself at the stupidity of obeying someone attacking him, but he had to know what was going on. Why was he in a room with pictures of his family and now across from a woman identical to his dead mother?

"Your mother?" she inquired, her wand arm going limp, hanging by her side. "Who the hell are you?"

Harry finally leveled his wand at her, and she mirrored him. "I asked first."

Neither of them gave way. They stood, waiting for the other to make a move. Harry didn't really want to curse her. Whatever instinct had made him not want to run from her also demanded he not harm her.

The tense silence was broken by a 'meow,' and Harry gave a hiss as he felt small needle claws prick his leg. He looked down to see a kitten climbing up the loose brown robes. He kept an eye on the woman while trying to shake off the determined kitten, but to his dismay it reached his shoulder and perched itself there with a satisfied purr.

"Is this your cat?" Harry asked unsurely, trying to eyeball it, but the kitten was happily trying to nuzzle his neck.

"Yes, that's Paddy. He likes you." She smiled at his vain efforts to get the kitten down and stop it from playing with his ear. "So who are you?"

"As if you don't know, haven't recognized the scar yet?" Harry retorted sarcastically, flicking the kitten's paw, now batting at his face. "Why do you look like Lily Potter?"

Harry saw her consider him; she crossed her arms, no longer marking him with her wand. Her green eyes bored into him and he shuffled uncomfortably at their intensity. Suddenly, she kneeled and put her wand on the floor, giving Harry full eye contact.

"I'm going to leave my wand here and if you do the same, we can talk," she offered, waiting. Harry thought about it only for a second, and knelt awkwardly with the little cat on his shoulder. He looked at her across the hall and put the wand down as well. She stood up smoothing her flowing red skirt and stepped into what looked like a small sitting area.

Harry copied her, but before he could stand up the kitten jumped into his lap so he was forced to carry it in the crook of his arm as he followed her into the room. He stood there while she turned her back on him and went to the stove. He watched her pour water into cups and make tea while he absently petted the kitten in his arms.

She brought the tea and put it on a small table under a window. The table could seat only two and she motioned him to sit down while she turned on some lights. She sat across from him, absently flicking the fringe of her copper red hair away from her face. Harry watched her in discomfort; other than the hair he could see nothing different about her from the pictures of his mother.

Quietly, she took a sip from her cup and looked at him over it. He knew she'd noticed him watching her. She arched a brow in question, and he blushed as if caught. He heard her make an unintelligible sound, and sit back in her chair, resting the cup in her lap. Unfortunately, this way her figure was exposed and for a woman of her endowment the fawn camisole did not leave much to modesty. Harry felt even more awkward and hurriedly drank from his cup to cover it up. Surreptitiously, he took her in from her angled face and delicate lips hovering around the tea cup, to her slender neck tapering off to shapely shoulders, and then, of course, where he thought he had been caught looking once already, to the swell of her bosom that complimented her svelte figure. She is gorgeous, he thought, and was filled with warmth. No wonder Dad fell for you, he thought and smiled.

A strange, light feeling came over him, and he looked up and smiled at her. She blinked slowly as if surprised, and then returned his smile a little sadly.

"What's your name?" she asked pointedly.

"Harry James Potter," he answered before he thought of trying to get her to answer. He shook his head, wondering why he just blurted out the answer. "Well, you knew that anyway, don't know why you bothered asking," he added sullenly. But when he looked up at her, he saw her wide-eyed and colorless.

"What-is-your-name?" she ground out, rising from her chair and looming over him.

"Harry James Potter," he answered again, just as quickly, and without thought, body still feeling oddly light.

"No, you're dead, you're a baby," she furiously argued, sitting down and slamming a fist on the table.

"I'm not dead, at least I don't think I am. Unless Voldemort killed me and I missed it." He gave a nervous laugh, feeling distinctly unlike himself. The strange light feeling was beginning to worry him now.

"Did Voldemort send you here? Are you a Death Eater?"

"No, Voldemort didn't send me, and I'm not a Death Eater," he answered calmly, and felt surprised he hadn't shouted angrily like he wanted to. He began to suspect this floating, light feeling tingling through his body.

"How did you appear in Dumbledore's office?"

"I don't know."

"That stone, did it have anything to do with it?" she continued unrelentingly, and Harry could see she was getting more and more agitated.

"I don't know," he answered again, feeling mildly alarmed that she had seen the stone in his hands. He tried to hide it in his pocket.

"What is that?" she pointed at the blackened and engraved stone.

"It's the Resurrection Stone," Harry answered immediately, startling himself. That was something he was going to keep secret, so why did he tell her? His answer seemed to give her pause, and she looked at him, perplexed.

"What does the Resurrection Stone do?" she asked like she didn't want to.

"It lets you talk to people who've died; they come back but you can't be with them. They're still separate. At least that's the story." He could see her hands shaking now, but her eyes were steady and nothing on her face said that she was affected by his story.

He waited for another question, but some of the strange feeling left him and he asked a question of his own. "Why do you look like Lily Potter?"

"I look like her because," she paused, "I am Lily Potter."

This time, he felt a tremble in his hands and knew he was watching her, mouth agape. It was like his mind was simultaneously running through a million thoughts and not thinking a thing. A cold sweat broke out on his head. All through this she looked at him blankly, but then a tear escaped the corner of her eye, and he finally saw the pain in her eyes.

"My God! I resurrected you!" he gasped. "I was turning the stone trying to see you before…" he trailed off. She was shaking her head.

"How can you resurrect someone who's not dead? No, I think it was me. I was the one turning the stone asking for you…and you came, you came back to me," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue in a nervous gesture and then giving a beatific smile. Harry reacted to it infectiously and smiled as well, loving the sight of her lit up like that. Tears flowed freely from her now. He didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't dead, that it really was him who must have resurrected her.

"How did you get so big?" she suddenly asked. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but it was lost in a loud thumping noise coming from where the door was. Lily jumped from her chair and squatted down next to the loveseat, pulling something out from under it. Harry looked over her shoulder to see a mirror in which the unmistakable face of Mad-Eye Moody was showing.

"Potter, quick, bring down your blasted wards," he growled. Lily turned back, looking around the room frantically.

"You have to hide, now!" She shoved him towards the bedroom. Harry let himself be pushed into the room, confused about how Mad-Eye ended up being resurrected; he hadn't planned on talking to him, just his close loved ones.

Paddy, the kitten, followed him into the room. Lily had quickly swiped their wands from the floor and thrown him the one she thought was his. She waved at him to get hidden, but having just found out who she was, his heart was bursting from joy, and he wanted to ask a thousand questions, or just keep looking at her. But when he saw her twirl her wand at the brick wall, making it dissolve to reveal the wooden door, he did as she said. Pressing himself against the bedroom wall, he heard the steady thunk of Moody's walk and heard him enter the flat with some other footsteps following his. There were hushed, urgent voices and he heard the kettle being put on to boil again.

Harry was no closer to figuring out what was happening than before, but at least now he knew who the woman was, and his blood rushed at the thought. He had to be close to her. He rummaged in his magical wallet and pulled out the invisibility cloak, thinking he'd risk Moody seeing him.

Hastily, he donned the cloak and took a look around the room, at least now all of the pictures made sense. Staying flush against the walls, he crept closer to the sitting room.

"Are you alright, love?" a deep feminine voice asked. He didn't recognize it. The silence that followed the question was tense; Harry could practically feel it even where he was hidden. "I didn't mean anything by it, just concerned," the same voice as before apologized.

Sound of shuffling robes came close to him and he thought he might be found if he stayed. He waited with baited breath but whoever it was didn't cross back into the hall from the sitting room. "Honestly, Lily, the way you're looking at me is scaring me."

"Why are you here Mr. Moody?" he heard Lily ask, and even he could tell she had dismissed the woman who had been talking earlier. For a moment there was only sound of tea cups clinking and being put on the table.

"I have a mission for you," Moody's gravelly voice reached him.

"Send Remus, or Alberta, I'm busy," Lily responded shortly.

"I don't have time to worry about Lupin's sense of mercy, and Alberta is a child," Moody nearly snapped.

"She is older than me by five years, Moody," Lily commented.

"Aye, and still bright eyed as a suckling baby." Something smashed on the table, punctuating Moody's anger. A tense silence followed his exclamation.

"This is a matter for the Grim Protocol. You know Alberta is not part of that, dear, even gentle Lupin isn't," the deep feminine voice from earlier he hadn't recognized broke the silence.

"And how many times have you carried out the Grim Protocol, Mrs. Shay? Seems like every time I'm the one sent." Harry heard Lily question harshly, and wondered what this Grim Protocol was.

"I did my part against Grindelwald, young lady. Do not forget that. If it wasn't for Dumbledore I would go with you. Moderate your tone with me," the deep feminine voice sounded much less apologetic this time.

"And before you ask, _Dumbledore_ invoked the Grim, not me," Moody spoke.

"I wasn't going to ask. Who is it, and why?" Lily demanded.

"You weren't going to ask?" Moody was incredulous. "What's wrong with you, Potter? I can't send you if you've finally lost it."

"Hmph! The day Lily Potter loses it is the day a muggleborn becomes Minister of Magic. Not a colder Grim has the Order of the Phoenix ever had." The unknown woman laughed.

"I'm the only Grim right now, Mrs. Shay. I will take that as a compliment. I am sorry Mr. Moody I am not free."

"Listen here, chicky, Voldemort is sending Ezekiel Rasch to trap the French minister and purify his wife. Do I need to explain what 'purify' means?" Moody asked and Harry heard Lily gasp. "Take it as a no, then. We can't arrest him, nothing can be pinned on him, and the French Minister thinks Rasch his best friend, he's refused to believe Dumbledore."

"France can't fall. You have been charged with the Grim Protocol. We trust your skill, come back safe," the woman added on.

"Can I ask why neither of you can do this?" Harry heard the current of bitterness in Lily.

"We're protecting the Longbottoms. They are priority. Merlin knows why, Dumbledore is more tightlipped than a goblin," Mrs. Shay complained.

"Aye, I'd come with you, Potter, but this is best done by one person. He's a powerful wizard, don't get cocky," Moody admonished.

"I never do, now get out and induct someone else from the Order to do this. I am tired of it," Lily whispered.

"I'm sorry, child," Mrs. Shay began before being cut off.

"Save your sympathy. Next time do the bit you did against Grindelwald in this war hmm?" Lily taunted, and Mrs. Shay sighed. There were quick footsteps, the door opened and shut. Presumably, Mrs. Shay had left, but Harry was waiting for Moody's characteristic thunking walk, so he knew he was still in the flat.

He heard the old auror's slow gait start and come to a pause before the man spoke again.

"Potter, I am invoking the Grim right now. You understand this?" Harry strained to hear Moody's whisper.

"Moody, what are you doing?"

"By my right as head of the Protocol, I invoke the Grim on Madame Shay."

"You're not serious!" Lily exclaimed.

"Careful, chicky, she betrayed us. She's too strong to be broken, Dumbledore won't believe me. He's blinded by his 'faith,'" Moody spat the word. "Do it quietly, make it look right. We can't have this come out to the full Order. Another betrayal and they'll fall apart, the cowards," he growled.

"But she's been with us so long," Lily whispered sadly. Harry's alarm at what he was hearing kept growing, the worse came next.

"Aye, aye, she has. Lily, the protocol for Ezekiel Rasch is a trap. Shay set it up, insisted you be the one to take it, and Dumbledore made it so. Do whatever you have to do but come back, I can't rely on anyone else. After James…"

"I know," Lily said in a very small voice, making Harry want to run in there. He kept himself from doing anything stupid but something cold had dropped in his stomach, he was scared to death for Lily. Moody's thunking walk came close to where he was standing flat against the wall and then went away. The door opened and shut again, Moody had left.

"Cursed Morgana!" Lily yelled when Moody left and Harry came back in the room to see her running her hand through her hair in a frustrated manner. She gave him a bleak look then closed the distance between them and put her arms around him.

Harry squeezed as hard as he could, but afraid he was hurting her. Tears threatened to fall when he thought this was his first hug from his mother, and he was terrified for her safety.

"You…can't do…what they want you to," he told her, haltingly.

"I have to. I am the Order's Grim. I am so glad you're back."

"I can't lose you again," Harry's voice broke a bit to his shame. "I don't understand what's going on, how is Moody alive, and Dumbledore and-"

"Hush!" she soothed, and rubbed his back in circles. "You will never lose me again. But we have to get out of here now, Shay knows where I live, we can't stay here anymore. I need you to be brave, Harry, can you do it?"

Harry pulled back from her arms and stared into her eyes which were only a fraction lower than him; she was almost exactly as tall as him. There was only one way to answer that question, despite his confusion.

"Yes, I can do it."


	5. Chapter 5

A.N. Much thanks to Tinn for edits, and the usual crew for content beta'ing, Syao, Typa, Vash, Shezza, Jon and Anna.

**Bitter Sweet Truths**

The steepled roof of the church had enough of an awning to protect Harry and Lily from getting wet from the rain fall. It was an old church, the paint was chipped and peeling, the wooden façade had swollen from exposure to the elements. It looked uncared for and in beginning stages of being dilapidated. Lily felt rain spray on her skin, carried to her on the blowing wind, as she watched the despondent form of the boy she had recently discovered to be her dead son.

They both pretended not to be staring at each other, deliberately looking away when the other noticed them staring. His presence bothered her, she could not understand it, she had begged for the child that she had cuddled and held to come back to her, and here was one that was nearly a man. _Did they grow up faster in death?_ She wondered.

She considered him and what she had learned from him with a new eye. The visit from Alastor Moody had had the effect of a cold bucket of water on her confused and heated emotions. She was once again Lily Potter as the Order had come to know her, for her unshakeable and cool persona.

Many envied her closeness with the Headmaster; little did they know that her extreme devotion is what had landed her in probably the most dangerous position of anyone in the Order. Only three of the Order knew her exact role and assigned responsibility. When all other means failed against their enemies, they used the Grim Protocol. An archaic invocation to call an assassin for a sanctioned execution, and she was their assassin, their Grim.

And it was with the cold and steady mind of the appointed Grim that she watched the boy not three feet from her.

It was true she had questioned him under veritaserum, and she had seen the effect of the potion in his eyes dilating, but free of the shock of the truth she was increasingly uneasy about the person claiming to be her baby.

She could still hear his heart in her own head. Its beat raced every time she caught him looking at her. He seemed to want to say something, and just when she thought he would, his heart's tattoo would quicken and he would lose his nerve.

There was no one she could go to unravel the mysteries of death. There was no safe way of questioning Albus Dumbledore about the stone in his office either. In the end she would have to scour his personal books, and the library for references to the Resurrection stone. The boy had told her truth about what the black, ordinary looking stone was and about himself too. She simply could not resolve the loved cherubic face of her baby with this boy who was nearly identical to her dead husband.

She stared out at the sheets of rain being blown off course by the wind, and wondered if her dream truly had come true. In her heart she did not want to distrust him; and he called to her, to protect him. Something in his magic affected her that way, and she did not know if that was proof he was hers or another point of suspicion.

Kicking an errant stone on the steps of the church she cursed her luck to have been thrown in the middle of an intrigue when she needed to find answers to this most important mystery. She watched him react to her sudden movement from the corner of her eye; his wand was ready, but instead of watching her he was looking out to the street. _Maybe_, she thought, _he's looking for what disturbed me. Maybe I finally have someone I can rely on. _

"Are they gone yet?" she asked, referring to the late worshippers sitting in the pews of the church they were standing outside of. He had been very quiet on the way over from her flat to the unsavory neighborhood they were now in, she had appreciated his trust.

The boy looked in discreetly, and shook his head no. She saw him get ready to say something again, but did not encourage him. The mentality that came with her appointed duty as the Grim was a relief from the madness of emotion Dumbledore had triggered with his demand for her to bear a child hero. She found and kicked another harmless stone.

"Why are we here?" he finally asked. _At least he hasn't asked what the Grim Protocol is yet, she thought,_thankfully.

"There will be a message in there that I need before we can go anywhere," she answered.

Turning to him, she saw him staring at her, but this time he didn't look away. He had changed into the clothes he had worn when she'd first seen him. Across from her he looked like a perfectly normal muggle boy. He was ready to confront her, she knew. Not wanting to answer his questions, she asked one of her own to distract him, hoping he would not ask about the Grim Protocol.

"Can you tell me what death is like?" she asked, trying and failing to be nonchalant. He reacted to the question physically, jerking back as if slapped and his face had a look of utter confusion.

"What?"

"What's it like being dead? You grew up a lot…I mean you've only been dead two years, I don't understand," she confessed. The drum of rain on pavement and awning filled the tension following her question.

He continued to blink at her in confusion, so she steeled herself to ask him how James was. This question above all had been burning inside her, but she hadn't had the courage until now to ask. "Harry, can you tell me how James is? Is he happy? Is he alright?" She appealed to him with her earnest eyes.

"I'm not dead," he said slowly, in disbelief. "I've been alive for_seventeen years_. How the hell should I know how Dad is?"

"I-I don't understand. Wasn't James with you?" she almost pleaded, feeling a panic coming on. He shook his head.

"You and Dad were murdered by Voldemort when I was one. Shouldn't _you_ be telling me what being dead is like?" He waved his hand in agitation, and gave her a very suspicious look. She frowned at his answer, and drew the worn looking cloak around her, as if to protect herself.

"Two years ago, James and my son were murdered. What are you talking about?" Her temper flared, and she could tell he was unsettled as well: it was almost too hard to think through the noise of the second heart beating in panic in her head. "Look, calm down."

"I am calm," he said, and by all outward appearance he did look laid back and cool. "I'm just not sure you are who you said you were, if you don't even know what happened." He frowned at her and she noticed his fingers tightening around the wand in his hand. She swallowed and deepened her breathing, preparing herself to act when he would try to curse her. She heard his heart beat slow down and become one with her own.

She smiled. "Why are you less afraid attacking me than talking to me?"

In answer he raised his wand and pointed it at her. "I want to believe you, you look exactly like her. But she'd know who I am, she'd never forget me." His wand was steady but she could see the conflict in his eyes; she had learned to read eyes in a duel a long time ago, her life had depended on it. As she tried to read him, her composure suddenly cracked when she noticed for the first time their color.

"Your eyes-"

"Are my mother's, or did you forget that too?" he spat. "I don't believe you're Mum. You're going to tell me what happened at Hogwarts. Did you capture me in the battle?"

Lily thought about it for a second, she knew veritaserum had worked on him, that he had no knowledge that he was being drugged and so couldn't fight against it. She felt a little blindsided by the color of his eyes being exactly like her baby's, like hers. But nothing he was saying made any sense to her. She decided to reason with him, see if telling him the whole truth would help.

"I was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's office; he is the headmaster of Hogwarts-"

"I know who Dumbledore is; how could you be in his office? You're dead, and he's dead too," he snapped. Lily cast a glance at the decrepit doors of the church, worried someone would come out while they were like this. At least rain fall and night was obscuring them from view of casual onlookers.

"Do you want the muggles to see us having a duel? Put your wand away, please."

"Not until you tell me who you are." He was determined.

"I've already told you," she yelled.

"And I don't believe you."

"Well I don't know how to make you believe, alright. Don't act so high and mighty, expecting me to believe you're my one year old baby." She shouted her frustration, knowing that he could not have lied under veritaserum.

"I am James and Lily Potter's son, so I'm not really expecting you to believe I'm your son, am I?" His face took on a nasty expression.

"Since I am Lily Potter that is exactly what you're saying. Put down your wand, before I am forced to hurt you."

"I don't think you will. You did such a bang up job of it in your flat. No, I will keep my wand and you will tell me who you are."

Lily swore in her head. She'd hoped he'd forgotten how ineffective her magic had been against him. Feeling a cold sweat on her brow she wondered again what had happened, why hadn't her spells worked? She didn't remember him casting any magic, yet everything she had used had failed. She felt helpless and afraid of the power he could have over her if she couldn't use magic against him.

"You're just going to have to trust me then aren't you?" Lily shrugged, positioning herself to hide her wand movement with her body to curse him. She bit her lower lip, feeling reluctant. She knew she wouldn't curse him even if she could. It felt too much like betrayal, like she was attacking James. No, she would only cast shields. It wasn't like the first time when he had startled her and she had reacted instinctively by hexing him.

"Give me an Unbreakable Vow that you're Lily Potter and swear you will tell me the truth," he demanded, and she froze.

"Only if you give me your vow that you're James and Lily Potter's son and will tell me the truth," she countered. They had both moved to the edge of the steps in their argument, and were getting thoroughly soaked in the rain. She saw him mull it over; he obviously didn't want to give a vow. Her heart sank in disappointment that this was all a lie.

"Alright," he said just when she had looked away from him to marshal her pain. "But we will need a witch or wizard to cast the vow."

"There's one inside. He will be more than happy to help," Lily spoke with a challenge in her eye.

"Great, we'll see then." He folded his arms and glared right back. His heart matched her steady beat.

"You better be who you say you are," Lily threatened as the old doors of the church creaked open to let out a few elderly gentlemen and a forlorn teenager, looking at the heavy rain in dismay.

"Good night," they wished the two strangers standing on the steps up to the church and hurried away. Lily mumbled goodbyes to them, keeping a watchful eye on the boy. _But you already know the truth_,_he is who he says he is_, Lily agonized in her mind. The sallow face of a priest peeked out of the doors and met her eyes; she was satisfied to see fear in them.

"Mrs. Potter, what a-" his words failed him.

"Surprise?" Lily finished for him.

* * *

The inside of the church was unexpectedly well kept and clean. The pews, furnishings, and fixtures looked new, though not grand in anyway. A single aisle split the two columns, leading to a gleaming cross touching the ceiling. Lily hovered near the entrance to one side, where a basin sat on a raised platform holding, presumably, holy water. 

Harry watched the thin priest with a shining hairless crown lock the doors hurriedly with shaking hands. He kept glancing fearfully at the woman pretending to be his mother. Lily, as he reluctantly had to think of her for the moment, didn't seem to notice this and was keeping an eye on the basin of water. He wondered again, since she had dragged him to the outside of the church, if this was a big plan to keep him from the battle at Hogwarts. He worried how Ron, Hermione and everyone was.

"How are you doing, Father Knopf?" she asked, making the man jump at her voice. Harry watched this wondering why the feeble looking man was afraid of her. It increased his suspicion about her, and he looked to the church doors, thinking it was better to run and apparate to Hogsmeade, rather than stay to figure out who she was.

"Don't mock me child," he spat, and his lower lip quivered. Lily sighed shaking her head. Harry wondered what had set the priest off, momentarily losing track of his plans to escape.

"I wasn't. How is your rheumatism?" she asked gently, this time looking at him, and Harry saw nothing in her demeanor that was threatening. The priest was still looking at her like something wounded though.

"The rain always makes it worse; even my hands betray me now. But all is the will of God. Thank you for asking." He gave a short bow. Lily withdrew something from her frayed cloak; Harry saw her offer a vial of potion to the old man.

"Something to ease your pain, I know potion brewing was not one of your strengths." She held out the potion, but the priest stepped back and gave her a haughty look. Harry was stunned to know that the priest was the wizard Lily was talking about outside.

"You are always kind, young lady, but I cannot accept a balm coming from the mischief of witchcraft." Harry recoiled at the man's admonishing tone, and a dark expression crossed Lily's face too. In an instance the potion disappeared inside her cloak.

"Hypocrite," she whispered, but in the empty church it echoed, and the priest bowed over as if she had punched him in the gut.

"My sins are between my lord and myself, you are no one to judge me." He shook as he said this.

"You were sentenced never to use magic again, Wizard. It's alright for you to cast repairing and cleaning charms on your church but not for me to make a healing potion?" Lily demanded. Harry looked around in wonder. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere; this was why the church was in such good condition inside belying how it looked from the outside.

"I committed my crimes before you were born, whelp. What I do now is in the service of God," the priest shouted with fervor. Harry stepped closer to him, in case he did something rash like rush Lily.

"That's what you said then too. Faking stigmata and healing using magic, using imperius to 'imbue your flock with holy spirit.'"

"How did you know what I-" The priest couldn't continue, and Harry looked at him disgusted.

"It doesn't matter. I wanted to be civil with you but you chose to get nasty. You know why I am here."

"Yes, yes." He drew a handkerchief from his pocked and wiped his forehead. "I wish you wouldn't sully the holy water so."

"You agreed to help Albus Dumbledore," Lily said carelessly, and Harry gave her a questioning look but she didn't explain.

"Indeed. I must pay for his kindness all those years ago. If it is quite all right I will retire for the night." He made to leave.

"Actually, we need your help for an Unbreakable Vow, and before you say anything else about evil witches just remember you are one yourself." Lily stepped to him and looked up into his grey eyes.

"Very well, summon me when you are done with the basin." With this he left through a side door as quickly as possible.

Harry stared at the side door for a moment unable to get over what he had heard about the man. He looked to Lily with an expression of disbelief. The interspersed light and shadow in the church threw her in sharp relief; her face was unreadable. For a moment Harry lost himself in looking at her, it was overwhelming seeing her in the flesh. Brutally he squashed his want to smile stupidly at her and run to her: he wasn't sure if she really was his mother, no matter how much she looked like the pictures he had.

"You're pale. Are you alright?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, fine." He cleared his throat, ignoring the kindness in her voice. She nodded at his answer, and moved to the basin. He thought to ask her about the priest, and why she had offered him medicine, but paused when he saw her reach in her cloak and take out a milky gem.

She placed the gem in a groove carved on the basin, and quickly threw a piece of parchment he hadn't seen her take out into the holy water. Stepping closer he saw the water was swirling slowly, and the parchment pinned to the bottom. Suddenly there were sparks in the basin, a cloud of black spewed from the parchment making the swirling water murky.

Harry looked to Lily in question, but she was watching the water intensely. He took in her profile for a moment, wondering what would happen when they made the unbreakable vow. If she was lying would he be able to watch her suffer under the curse of making a false vow? Could he see his mother's face in pain?

Looking away from her he saw the parchment she had thrown in the basin float to the top of the black water. It was blank, and Harry was disappointed to see there was nothing after all the magic. But then Lily bared her left arm and dipped it in. The parchment flew to her arm, wrapping itself around. Harry saw Lily bite her lower lip as she brought her hand out of the bowl.

As soon as her hand was free of the basin the parchment burned, and Harry jumped back with a shout. He drew his wand to cast a water charm, but Lily was already shaking ashes of the burnt parchment off her arm.

"It's fine, don't worry. I should've warned you." She gave her arm another vigorous shake, getting rid of the ashes. They fell off to show two thick, dark lines curling around her arm. Harry strode up to her thinking she had been burned. "See, I'm alright," Lily offered gently, showing him her arm.

"You're not burned," Harry said, surprised. "There's writing," he noted, now able to see the two thick lines to be words snaking around.

"By right of invocation, Albus Dumbledore orders the Grim Protocol on Ezekiel Rasch," Lily read out one of the lines, and as soon as she finished the words disappeared to leave a red feather imprinted on her arm where the line had curled around. "It's to show I've been properly invoked," she answered Harry's unasked question about the red feather mark.

"By right of invocation, Alastor Moody orders the Grim Protocol on Karen Shay," she read out the other line, and it too disappeared leaving a red feather curling around her arm. "Her name is Karen? I never knew that. Well, now I know it really was Moody who came to the flat."

"You didn't know it was him?" Harry asked, confused.

"No, he told me that Mrs. Shay betrayed us. I don't like her but until right now I would have bet she was one of Dumbledore's oldest friends; I couldn't be sure if it was Moody or an imposter trying to sabotage the Order. That's why we're here. This is the proper invocation for the Grim Protocol, now I know I am actually supposed to…" she trailed off, staring at Harry with a startled expression, as if she'd said more than she meant to.

"Supposed to what?" he demanded.

"Never mind." She turned away from him, rubbing her arm. Harry held back from asking if she was hurt, annoyed she wouldn't answer his question. The rain had gotten her soaked; her hair was stuck to her face. She shuddered and sneezed, while rubbing her arm. Instinctively, Harry went to help her. He reached to take her wet cloak to dry, but stopped his hand an inch away from her. Looking at his hand in confusion he wondered where his good sense had gone to be careful around her.

"Guess we should make that vow," Harry said.

Lily whirled around, not expecting him to be right behind her. They stood face to face only a few inches apart. Harry's expression softened, and despite himself he took the edge of his cloak to wipe the water dripping into her eyes from her hair. Lily let him, her own face not giving away what she was feeling.

"You look exactly like her," Harry whispered. "She looked beautiful in the pictures, I always wanted to see her alive." His fingers brushed her forehead, sending an immediate thrill through him, his blood rushed, he felt breathless and dizzy from the power he felt.

"The vow," she said with difficulty. "That will prove everything." She hurried away from him with a grimace of pain, to the side door the priest had disappeared through.

His throat went dry, dreading whatever was to come, momentarily forgetting the magical reaction to touching her. Either way he didn't know what to do. What was he going to do if she was lying? _Duel her, disarm her, then what?_ Or what if she was telling the truth? _No, it has to be a trick, has to be_.

He felt a pang of guilt, thinking of his friends, who he'd forgotten through all this. He didn't have much time to be angry at himself before she returned with the priest in tow. They met between the pews, in the aisle. She looked nervous, absentmindedly straightening her cloak, brushing her hair back. Again and again their eyes would meet, but they'd look away, unwilling to make contact.

"I want to get this over with," the Priest exclaimed. Both Lily and Harry jumped at his outburst.

"I'll have to touch you," she said nervously, as if she really didn't want to.

"We have to clasp hands, yeah. I guess you will have to touch me. Problem?" Harry challenged, feeling a little annoyed with her. She avoided looking at either of them and Harry exchanged a bewildered look with the priest.

"You don't want to make the vow Mrs. Potter, is that it?" the Priest said with mock understanding. Harry realized that she was trying to find a way out of it. His anger at himself, and her, doubled at keeping him from going to help his friends.

"That's it, isn't it? You're just trying to get out of it." Harry snapped. She shot him a glare and he took an involuntary step back.

"Please, I would prefer if I'm going to be coerced in breaking the law, it is quick and done post haste," the priest's cheeks flapped a little as he glared at the both of them.

Harry saw Lily kneel and hold out her hand, as if to shake. He mirrored her, a little unsurely, but trying to act as if he knew how it was done. He realized this was the moment of truth, and he had to decide what he was going to do when it was proven she was lying. Whatever the case, he had to get back to Hogwarts and face Voldemort.

They both kneeled facing each other. Harry reached to shake Lily's hand when she suddenly motioned him to stop.

"Do it quickly. Whatever you do don't interrupt the vowing ritual," she told the priest, making Harry wary of what was about to happen.

He saw Lily reach for him with her hand, and hoping to look like he knew what he was doing he copied her movements. They knelt with their hands outstretched to clasp but not yet touching. Harry imagined he could feel a sensation in the palm of his hand, so close to Lily's hand. He was reminded of the strange feelings he had felt when he'd first seen her in her flat – that sense that he must not attack her and undeniable instinct he knew her, knew her like he knew himself.

And that last thought made him jump the tension rising between them and clasp hands with her. Some force leapt into his hand where it touched hers, his hand shook but he held on feeling a burning thrill rise inside him, spreading outwards from his scar. It was Lily's moan of pain that brought him out of being overwhelmed by the magical reaction. Her back was bowed, and her forehead was nearly touching the floor while fearsome tremors racked her body. Her erratic breathing and obvious pain frightened him and he tried to pull his hand away, but it was as if their hands were welded together.

"What's happening? I do not remember the vow being painful!" the priest said holding his wand straight over their hands.

"I don't know, stop it, stop it!" he yelled, hoping the priest knew how to, he couldn't see the woman identical to his mother in pain.

"No," she interrupted, her voice choked with pain and panic. "Swear," she panted, "you're Harry Potter," another gasp cut her sentence off, "vow to tell me only truth." Then she fell to the ground, her head landing with an ominous thud on the stone, but still she held Harry's hand.

"I swear I am Harry Potter," a thin brilliant flame issued from the priest's wand, curling around their clasped hands like a luminous snake, "and my parents were James and Lily Potter." The string of magic met its tail and glowed even more brilliantly. "I vow to tell you only the truth." Another magically alight string rippled out of the wand making its path so that it circled around the hands and locked in a bond.

For a moment Harry looked at the vibrant magic in wonder, but the sweating and trembling hand in his spurred him to end the vow quickly. "I've done my bit. Swear you are Lily Evans Potter, and vow to tell me truth," suddenly Harry was gripped with inspiration, "or die for lying."

"It's you, it's you, oh my God, it's you." Lily let out a sob, turning her head on the floor to show him her pained and strained eyes.

"Swear it, end this!" Harry desperately demanded; dread filling his heart that he would soon see his mother's face in even more anguish than the tormented woman holding his hand was in.

"I am Lily Evans Potter, I swear," a third line of flame wrapped itself around their hands, now covered in three bonds of magic. "I vow to," she lost her strength, giving in to the force vibrating through her blood, "tell-only-tru-" she grunted, "truth, agh!" Harry moved forward putting his left arm around her middle pulling her close to his chest, but she was still bowed and it looked like something was rippling right under her skin. Harry didn't know that tears had escaped his eyes, when he'd heard her swear she was his mother. "Truth on pain of death," she finished in a dead whisper. The fourth and last magical entwining thread shot from the wand, touching all three before it and catching all the others in its bond. The four locks pulsed in their magical power, thickening until all were blinded by the light and like a nova they exploded in one shining moment, leaving the relative gloom of the church behind.

"You are thus bound, Lily Potter, Harry Potter," the priest announced breathlessly. "By God, I need something for my spirit." The balding thin man stumbled away into a pew. He might as well have not been there, for all Harry noted. Over his knees, only slightly touching his chest, Lily slumped; her head lolling towards the ground, and her dull eyes looking into his.

"It hurts when I touch you," she whispered, spent from the strange force that flowed in to her from the boy.

"You're Mum, you really are," Harry laughed. "I'm your son!" He exulted, wanting to draw her close, but afraid to touch.

"You're alive?" Lily questioned; her body listless and voice barely above a strained whisper.

"Yes," Harry answered, joy filling him to burst, having forgotten his friends, and his troubles.

Lily raised one weakened hand bringing it close to his cheek, but before she could caress him, her hand fell, and her eyes rolled up.

As her eye lids fell to cover her exhausted eyes, she said one last thing, "…but my son is dead."

Harry's mouth fell open in shock, and all his joy evaporated, leaving him cold.

"It's true, her son _is_ dead," the priest made himself known from the pew he had settled on, wiping his shining pate with a handkerchief.

"But I'm alive, I'm her son," Harry argued, angrily.

"She vowed to speak only truth to you young man," for the first time the priest's voice turned kindly and sympathetic. "You cannot be alive, and be her son. I am sorry."

His words echoed, drenching Harry in waves of cold disappointment.


	6. Chapter 6

A.N. A short and quick update before I move to my other stories for a bit.

Much thanks to Syao for brainstorming ideas.

**The Rattler in the 'tween**

Harry stood over her, seeing if she was comfortable in the musty bed. Some moonlight peaked through the cracks in the boarded up windows, to show dust and grime in the room. He sighed yet again, feeling weary and confused. In bringing Lily from the Church to the Shrieking shack, he hadn't seen any signs of a battle having been waged. All was quiet, and no Deatheaters were lurking in the dark corners of Hogsmeade. He had apparated to as near the wizarding village as he could and trekked the rest of the way with Lily. Father Knopf had protested, but Harry had been determined.

He had needed to get back and save his friends; nothing else made sense, but that much was true: his friends were in trouble and Voldemort had to be stopped. So he left Lily in the run down shack and made his way through the dank tunnel into Hogwarts grounds, hidden underneath his invisibility cloak.

Of course, having not seen any evidence of the battle so far had set his nerves on edge. He wondered if their side had been crushed so soundly that a new order had already been established, and swept away any signs of destruction. But in the back of his mind, he feared it had more to do with meeting this woman, who was his mother, but whose son he wasn't.

With painstaking care he peeked his head through the exit protected by the Whomping Willow and looked in all directions. There was nothing. Just like the Shrieking Shack no longer had Snape's body or any sign of hosting Voldemort, the grounds showed no sign of wizards and magical beings meeting in battle. He became more alarmed.

The grounds were slick with rain, but moonlight guided him well enough over anything that could trip him, and a certain experience walking the grounds at night gave him confidence too. He sped up the trails naturally formed by the feet many students walking to and fro from greenhouses, quidditch stadium and other ramblings. Harry peered everywhere, looking for death eaters or members of the Order, anyone who could by simply standing there tell him that the battle had happened. In his singular effort he lost sight of his immediate surroundings, and was startled badly when a loud baying went up a few feet from him.

He tripped and fell, rolling on the ground, and then Hagrid and Fang were upon him. He froze wide-eyed with heart thumping in his ears.

"C'mere you dozy dog, there 'aint nothing there," Hagrid chided his pet fondly, sounding his usual cheery self. "Dumbledore's waitin', musn't keep 'im waitin.'"  
Harry had been just about to leap up and greet Hagrid, but hearing what he said made him freeze on the wet grass. Fang still growled in his direction, getting more aggressive, very unlike the Fang he knew. Suddenly Fang hurtled forward, making Harry raise his hand in an instinctive reaction to protect himself, the resurrection stone ring on his hand brushed the fabric of the invisibility cloak he was under, and fang passed right through him.

Harry whirled on the ground staring at the hound which seemed to be whining and sniffing the ground where Harry had been. He couldn't tell because it was like a switch had been thrown and all sound had cut out. Crawling forward, he shook his head, taking his ringed hand away from the cloak, and just as quick he could hear again.

" - drag yeh' I will," Harry caught the end of what Hagrid was crossly saying. Hagrid grabbed Fang by the collar and pulled him quite effortlessly away from where Harry sat dumbfounded by the experience of an animal passing right through him. Giving only a moment to look curiously at the resurrection stone, he hurried after Hagrid.

Slipping a few time on the rain slick grass and unable to keep up with Hagrid's long strides, Harry got there just in time for the great doors to the castle to shut on his face. Knowing it would not help him he still pulled on the heavy iron rings to open the door, after three vigorous tries he gave up, cussing under his breath at the thing. He kicked at the stone stairs and looked at the moonlit washed grounds; it was peaceful, and all wrong. He noticed he had been playing with the ring on his finger absently, and now brought it closer to his face to examine. Tentatively, he touched the stone to the fabric of his cloak, and immediately lost all sense of hearing. The soft sound of wind rustling leaves, the sound of unseen things moving far in the forbidden forest, the occasional ordinary and unexplained night sound, all were missing, all deathly silent.

Harry looked out searching for something he could see moving and check if he heard its motion. There was nothing but the swaying of tree tops, that should have made a sound, but all was quiet. Then he saw a couple of luminous shapes form gradually amongst the trees, moving around with some purpose. But they were too far to make out; and they gave him a little fright, just enough to make him cautious. Hoping he wouldn't be noticed he stood still, leaning back into the large doors for support.

With a cry of surprise, he fell right through the heavy body of the main doors and into the entrance lobby. Coming quick to his elbows he looked at the shut doors as if they were alive and up to mischief, opening and shutting of their own accord when he wasn't looking. He got up and approached the doors, reaching with one hand to touch, but where his fingertips should have met the familiar wooden surface they sank in. He pushed ahead and soon his hand up to his elbow was through the solid door, he kept walking until his nose was about to touch it, here he drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes as if he was about to jump into the lake, and plunged through.

Cracking open one eye at a time, he found himself back outside, on the threshold. Whirling around he saw the doors were still shut. _I walked through, just like Fang jumped into me and out of me_. An excited smile touched his face, and like a child he ran his hand in and out of the stone walls and door to see how it worked.

A blur passed in front of his eyes and he jumped back with a shout and fumbling with the wand. A ghost of a man in a three piece suit was walking with his hands clasped behind him and an expression of deep concentration. The heavy set, elderly man kept walking straight through the stone barrister to Harry's right and into thin air over the grounds, never changing the level he was at. When he got far enough he became just like the luminous shapes Harry had seen earlier, and finally he realized what they were.

Clutching his thundering heart, Harry cursed himself for fooling around when he knew he couldn't hear anyone creeping up on him. Sobered by his near run in with the very muggle looking ghost, Harry made to walk through the doors and investigate what was going on. With confidence he strode forward and ran smack into the hard wood, bruising his nose and seeing stars.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, and heard himself. He looked around and strained his ears, sure enough he could hear his own breathing and the wind again. "I'm a fool." He touched the Resurrection Stone to the cloak again, at once hearing deathly silence and this time successfully made it through the door.

Once in, he ran into the great hall, only to find it empty and in perfectly organized condition as it usually was. Again no sign of the dead and wounded that had lain there, last he had been there. Once again with anxiety mounting he ran through the halls, keeping the cloak closely wrapped around himself but could not find anything. Turning a corner he walked through a dark shape, and screeched to a soundless halt to see what it was. _Snape?_

Incredulously he walked up to the sallow man, matching his stride, and stared agape. You're not dead, he blurted, his lips moved but no sound came out, all was still silent. Merlin, you look young. Severus Snape went about his nightly prowl, brooding and unaware of his observer. Harry fell back, with another thing added to his confusion.

"Mum who isn't Mum, no battle, Snape alive. What is going on?" he spoke to himself, making no sound, having carefully kept a piece of cloak twisted around his ring finger, and so in contact with the stone.

For a long moment he stood in the hallway, lost. Until with habit formed over the years of where to go when lost, he turned his steps to the headmaster's office, resolved to find out what Hagrid had been talking about outside. In a few short minutes he was at the gargoyle, and with impunity he passed right through the rocky guardian to the revolving stair case behind.

Here, he turned his ring inwards to his palm, no longer touching the cloak, and sound returned to him. The grinding of the spinning staircase was loud and alarming, making him wait at the foot to get used to the noise. He wondered who he would find above, McGonagall? Tired, and fierce. Voldemort? Smug in his glory. Or maybe dead Dumbledore, alive like Snape. With these thoughts he found himself at the doorstep, eaves dropping on Hagrid giving a report about the going on of the forbidden forest.

It couldn't be Voldemort, Harry figured, Hagrid wouldn't talk to him respectfully. But his question was cleared when the wizened and kindly voice of his Headmaster came through, nearly flooring him. As is he leaned against the side wall, stunned by Albus Dumbledore's familiar voice as if it had been a physical blow.

In a flash Harry twisted a knot of the cloak around his ring finger making himself able to walk through walls and rushed through the door recklessly. Only when he was at the Headmaster's grand table, he remembered Dumbledore could see through invisibility cloaks.

Panicking he waited for the cool blue gaze to fall on him, but it didn't. Dumbledore continued to nod and speak to Hagird, of which Harry heard nothing. The dead silence was a boon for Harry; it gave him time to accept that a dear man to him was sitting there as if neither death nor curse had ever touched him.

After watching the silent tableau for ten minutes, Harry finally relaxed into one of the chairs, certain now that when he was touching his cloak with the stone Dumbledore was unable to see him. With an ache he saw all the familiar mannerisms of the great wizard that had quietly become etched in his memory over his years at Hogwarts.

"What are you doing here little boy?" A cold wind blasted Harry on his face, breaking the silence like a shattering glass. The voice was low, and rattled. Harry turned to the source of the voice and saw skies of deep chocolate, vibrant browns and pale sandalwood, underfoot was a sea of blue grass, reaching up to his knees – he was no longer in Dumbledore's office.

"You're not a rattler, you don't belong in 'tween!" The ominous rattling voice made a threatening windy sound and rushed him. Harry searched for the source and finally saw what may have been a woman, in tattered clothes of an unrecognizable place and time, running at him. Her face, her eyes, even her hair were sickly yellow, her limbs were elongated and jagged, not human.

Harry looked to his right where Dumbledore had been sitting talking to Hagrid. The office wasn't there, but Dumbledore sat in middle of the air talking to someone, in his hand, Harry recognized, the elder wand. Then the cold blast hit him again and he went sprawling through the high blue grass.

"Weak, weak, weak. Too weak for 'tween, not even a rattler!" He heard the woman's rattling wheezy voice before those inhuman appendages crashed into him lifting him off the ground and tearing at his stomach. "Fresh, from the first side. I'll take your liver!"

"Ex-experlliarmus," he gasped, the spell leaving his wand was a dull smokey gray and did nothing to the yellowed and jagged woman. She clawed at his ribs and his stomach as he tossed frantically in her grip, apparently having lost his cloak and ring. "Crucio!" he belted out desperately, and that got the creature's attention.

Her wheezing rattling quickened and hiccupped as she cast him from herself. Bursting boils, burning cuts, appeared on her and Harry lifted the curse. On his knees he panted, with his left arm wrapped around his middle in shock at the attack, and pain.

The wheezing yellow woman got up again, and began dragging herself through the picturesque azure grass, looking like the last thing that should be surrounded by all the strange beauty.

"Stay back, stay back. I will kill you," Harry panted out. Hoping the damned thing could hear him, from the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore still sitting in midair but now looking around as if something had caught his attention. Harry was near enough to see the old wizard grasp a stone remarkably like the one around his finger. In an instant Dumbledore dropped from the invisible chair in the chocolate sky to the ground, as if it were an everyday occurrence for him.

The jagged woman was upon him again, and without thinking much Harry conjured fire, throwing it at her. She fell to the ground, gasping in that rattling wheeze, in what would be equivalent of agonized screams. The strange sounds emitting from her terrified Harry, and even more so when she got up, still on fire to rush him on all fours.

"Ah! I did think that something was amiss in the spirit world. I should've known it was the 'tween. Now who could've done that to you, you poor wretched creature." Dumbledore tutted and moved in a stately manner, intercepting the rushing woman with a bolt of pure white light that shot from him with such force that the sleeves of his viridian robes blew backwards like he was standing in a wind tunnel. The bolt blasted the yellowed jagged woman far into the distance, so that she wasn't even a speck.

"Hmm, well that is taken care of. Now if you would be so kind, could you reveal yourself? I cannot imagine the rattler did that to herself. I do warn you that if you mean to attack me you will meet just the fate of the old lady shortly departed, but I hope you are one of the ones who like to talk instead." Dumbledore's expression was serene and inviting. Even his threat had been delivered as if it were a gracious invitation to tea and cakes. The full effect was lost because the headmaster had arbitrarily chosen to face to Harry's left, as he could apparently not see him.

Bewildered why Dumbledore couldn't see him, Harry was equally surprised to see that Dumbledore was not holding the Elder wand or the Resurrection Stone; he could have sworn he saw both in the wizard's hands just before he had dropped out of his perch in the middle of the air.

"Hello," Harry attempted, feeling beat up and bruised. "I'm sorry, I don't know why you can't see me."

"Ho! This is interesting, you do not sound like a Rattler. Are you new here?" Dumbledore asked and made a motion with his hand, which looked like he was holding an invisible wand, and conjured a chair, sitting it perfectly to face Harry.

"I don't know where here is, Sir. Are we dead?" Harry asked, thinking he finally had a chance to get to the depth of all the strange occurrences. Harry was quite heartened seeing Dumbledore's patient, though in this instance, unfocused gaze upon him. Even in the strange brown skied, and blue earthed place it was comforting.

"Dear me, it seems I shall be the one to tell you where you have ended up. I am sorry, young man, excuse me for assuming you are a young man, the timber of your voice indicates that, but you are in between the living world and the spirit world, or the place of those who have gone beyond. For those living in between the two realms, this is called 'tween, from what I understand it is a rift or perhaps the place under the bridge between living and dead." Dumbledore paused for a moment, "I am from the living world. I cannot say whether you are dead or not. But usually those who end up here are only the Rattlers, obviously named after their voices that sound like a death rattle."

"Oh!" Harry unintelligently responded, a little dumbstruck by the revelation. "So you aren't dead."

"No, I am quite alive."

"But then how are you here, you have to die to get here, right?" Harry asked and then wondered how he himself was there, without being dead.

Dumbledore's smile seemed fixed for a moment before he answered, "Well I suppose it is no matter, since you are beyond the living world. My way of arriving here is a secret but-"

"I am dead," Harry provided.

"Yes, indeed. The way I arrived here, sadly convinces me that you are indeed dead, and simply fell of the bridge in your journey between life and the afterlife. You see, there are three artifacts in the living world that give the owner of a combination of them a certain, shall we say, affinity for death. I happen to own two of these and so can cross to the in between and sometimes hold a conversation with a Rattler who is not too far gone. Though I must say you are the most coherent person I have met here."

"I don't understand, how can you be sure I am dead." Harry asked desperately.

Dumbledore sighed. "Without at least two of the artifacts travel beyond life's doors except the conventional way is impossible. Since I own two of those artifacts, that leaves only one in the world, and one is not enough to allow anyone the ability to visit the 'tween." The tall blue grass whipped in the rain and smacked Harry's face, but he did not care, all his concentration was bent on Dumbledore's words.

"I suppose you must be right," Harry conceded, feeling relief that he had ended up in the 'tween because he owned two hallows just like apparently Dumbledore did.

"I am sorry, but I hope you will find your way out of this strange and beautiful place and go to the spirit realm proper. From my sparse trips here I have realized that it is a dangerous place, some Rattlers are decent people, and others like the one you encountered are nearly monsters. Survival is the order here. Though, there is hope, the better Rattlers also look better, more human and less monster. I expect that your invisibility will help you survive; I am quite curious why I can't see you. Is this some ability from your living days, do you remember if you were a wizard?"

"Don't you recognize me, Professor?" Harry finally asked, realizing Dumbledore wouldn't need to see him to know who he was. They had been close enough to easily identify each other by how they spoke or walked.

"No, I do not. I am sorry. Who are you?" Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, very curious.

Harry stood, braving the pain in his middle, but unable to stand the blue grass slapping him. "If you knew me, you would recognize my voice. I think maybe you're like her," Harry said thinking how the person he had left in the shack was Lily Potter but maybe not Lily Potter as well.

"I do not understand, like whom? Please, tell me your name. Perhaps old age has finally compromised my memory."

Harry gave a short disappointed laugh. "No one accused Professor Dumbledore for being senile. You wouldn't forget me, if you'd known me."  
"But if you would only tell me your nam-"

"Harry, it's Harry," he muttered, disappointed to his roots. "You were fighting Voldemort, is he dead? What's happening in the living world?" Harry asked playing along with Dumbledore's conviction that he was dead.  
"Ah! So you knew him. The fact you take his name must mean you were his enemy."

"He killed me…I think."

"Yes, many have died in his dark path." Dumbledore gravely nodded. "It is a surprising to meet one familiar with the state of the living. Sadly, Voldemort is still alive, we have lost many to him."

"Like the Longbottoms, and the Potters, yes?" Harry prompted, but became cautious when an unreadable look passed over Dumbledore's face.

"No, the Longbottoms are well. James Potter and his son were killed, indeed. They were survived by Lily Potter. Why do you believe they are dead?"

Harry shrugged, realizing later that Dumbledore couldn't see it, internally stunned at having another person tell him that his mother had survived Voldemort's attack instead of him. "They were powerful, Voldemort wanted to kill them. That's all I remember." He quickly gave the half truth, wanting to think on what he had learned.

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore agreed in a ponderous way. "It was good fortune to meet you Harry. I must go make certain the Longbottom's are safe. It seems you died only recently and I had hoped that Voldemort had given up chasing after them. I am sorry to leave you like this, but I must tend to the living."

"Don't be sorry, Sir. I'll be fine. How will you leave here?" he asked, scared that he would be stuck here.

"Quite simple. It takes someone from the 'tween to notice me to get me here, I believe you did that this time. So you would have to walk a great distance away from me to let me magically return to my place." Dumbledore smiled here, "But since that would be quite rude of me to expect I merely let go of one of the artifacts in my hand and disappear back to the living." Dumbledore raised his right hand that seemed to be curled around an invisible wand. "Good bye." With that he mimed dropping the wand and disappeared.

At once the vast chocolate and sandalwood sky disappeared and Harry was back in the headmaster's office where Dumbledore was picking up the elder wand from the floor. There was dead silence again, and he realized he still had his cloak on and resurrection stone ring. The only reason he had ended up in the 'tween was because that yellowed woman had seen him.

"Hello?" Harry tried, but did not hear his voice, and neither did the headmaster. Back in the living world he could not be heard nor seen. He gave Dumbledore a long look, saw the man who was so much to him, and did not remember him. With unshakeable conviction he knew this was not the man he had known. Lily, he used the name in his head haltingly, unsure if it was the right way to call her, was telling the truth. But so am I.

Despondently Harry walked Hogwart's halls, slowly making his way to the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack. On his way he visited the different houses, looking for his friends, but found strangers in their beds. He found a calendar that gave the wrong year, too many years in the past.  
He stood looking at the slate with the calendar next to the house scores. "I'm not home, where did this take me?" He mumbled looking at the Resurrection Stone on his hand, finally accepting this was not the world he knew.

Worried and tired he made his way back.

He didn't know what to do, most of him wanted to run to Lily, part of him was afraid of rejection again. Like she's said, her son was dead. He tried hard and attempted to relive that glorious moment when she had made the unbreakable vow that she truly was Lily Potter. He had felt like there was a sun burning, happier than ever. But so quickly it was taken away.

Now he stood over her in the musty room, watching her tired and beautiful face.

"Mum?" he whispered, and his voice broke. He cleared his throat, angry at himself. "If you're Lily Potter and I'm Harry Potter, then what are you to me, if you're not my mum? What are you?" he asked out loud, forgetting that he didn't want to disturb her.

He slumped beside her bed, looking at the boarded window, feeling despair and fear. Alone, without his friends, in a place that made no sense, loved ones alive who did not remember him, and a mother who couldn't be his mother, because her son had died.

"I wish you were alive," he said, thinking of everyone and no one in particular. After the hard childhood years at the Dursley's this was the first time had felt this alone and in need of help.

"That's how it started. I wished for you on the Resurrection Stone and you came," Lily whispered. Harry jumped a little, and blushed heatedly realizing she had heard him.

"But you said your son was dead, and you can't lie." He looked pleadingly in her green eyes, peaking above the pillows and the quilts on the bed. Even her mouth was covered.

"And you said you're my son, you can't lie either," Lily's voice betrayed her hesitation.

"Then what am I to you?" Harry asked the floor, unwilling to meet Lily's eyes, just needing something normal back, something that made sense. Lily did not say anything. Harry didn't expect that she would have an answer. After all he didn't know what to think either. He just wanted his mother and father back, but not like this.

"Mine," she broke the silence just as it began to rain again.

"What?" he asked.

"You have my eyes. I hear your heart. You're mine," she declared with feeling. With only a moment's hesitation, that Harry did not see, Lily laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry shut his eyes, steeling himself for when the dream would fizzle away to reality.

"Mine?" he said, tasting the word and what it meant on his tongue. Harry couldn't help himself, and in the darkened and dusty room he smiled, letting a sigh of relief go through himself. She hadn't rejected him.

"Goodnight, Mu- er," Harry trailed off seeing Lily flinch.

"Lily - _just_ Lily," she corrected him. Harry felt a pang of mixed emotions but nodded.

"Goodnight Lily," he whispered resting his head against her arm draped over him, and fell asleep, exhausted.


	7. Chapter 7

A.N. Lots of thanks to the writer's coven for getting this just right and beta'ing.

Also I ended the chapter where I felt it should.

Chapter 7

**The Grim Protocol**

For him, it began under the boughs of a tree in summer bloom, letting through little of the rain that seemed to just pour everywhere else around its shade; it was there he became afraid of her for the first time. Drops slipped down his nose, hanging for an irritating moment before falling. His eyes were fixed on the woman, not more than a wraith in appearance, standing in the middle of the street - waiting.

Her transformation had been strange; as she had curled her fingers around the invocation mark, a certain ethereal quality had come over her. Her short red hair had become dull and her face and eyes had grayed, so it looked like she was made of shades of stone. When she moved her outline blurred just like the sheets of rain blowing in the wind - it scared and intrigued him.

She had looked at him with her ethereal stone-hue eyes, and warned him to stay while she carried out her mission as the Order's Grim. But he had followed her, donning his invisibility cloak, fearful for her, and fearful of what she had transformed into.

"The magic linked to me as an invoked Grim helps me hide, be stealthy, and make the Death Eater very, very afraid of me," she had told him to ease the nervousness she'd seen in him as she had taken on her role.

And now they were both waiting for the Death Eater in the rain; him under a tree, and her boldly standing in the lane. _She's right_, he thought, _I can hardly see her_. A mixed feeling of dread and excitement filled him at being so close to finding out exactly what the Grim Protocol was. In his mind he had played with the thought that she had been sent to kill the Death Eater, but a childish conviction that his mother was pure and everything good in the world hindered him from giving the thought any consideration.

So he waited, telling himself that his excitement was only for seeing her in action, and finally be able to tell how good she was for himself.

One town house door opened, spilling out a wedge of yellow light. A wizard stepped out casually, leaning against the rail that led downstairs. He looked up and down the lane unhurriedly before waving behind him. First a couple of witches appeared, checking their right and left furtively before disapparating with sharp cracks. One more wizard followed, and then a larger group of people.

Harry tensed as he felt, inexplicably, that the moment had arrived. His teeth chattered in a sudden chill and he wondered what had changed the warm summer rain to biting cold. It seemed the wizard on the steps noticed too; giving up pretense, he wildly looked down to where Lily was standing, but Harry assumed that like himself all the wizard saw was sheets of rain blowing. She was nearly invisible, standing in the middle of the street.

The wizard at the door rushed down the steps and popped out of existence before his feet touched the last step. Behind him the door stayed open, an odd beacon of light in the cooling night and rain. Harry saw Lily move; a concentrated shape of gray in the dim light, she walked unhurriedly from one house to the next until she was almost directly opposite from the one she had marked earlier. Harry had seen her point her wand at different places on the road, apparently painting some symbol. But afraid of discovery, he hadn't walked too close to her to find out exactly what she had done. In his mind he had drawn a line from each point where Lily had stopped to cast spell work on the ground, to make a wide triangle.

She now stood at the base of the triangle, opposite to the vertex pointed straight at the door.

On instinct Harry looked away from where Lily was waiting, like a creature made of water and wind, to the still-open door spilling out the only light. A blocky shape of a witch was wrapping itself in shawls in its frame, before pulling the door shut behind. If it weren't for the over endowed curves, at distance he would not have been able to tell it was a woman, for her wide shoulders made her seem a wizard more than a witch.

She walked down the outside stairs leading up to the house, bent against the beating weather. Harry looked to where Lily was standing, and found a cold shiver going through him that had nothing to do with the chill but everything to do with anticipation; she was in a classic dueling stance, her formerly slate grayed eyes gone eerily marble white. Frowning, he looked back to the witch with the blocky outline; her slow movements did not seem threatening, nor aware that she was about to enter a duel.

"Dear, dear. So cold, why so cold? A summer chill-?" he heard the woman speak out loud to herself before she suddenly caught herself, stilling and straightening to peer at her surroundings. She drew a wand from the depths of her many shawls, and with a muffled incantation, four transparent medieval shields appeared around her.

"Who's there?" the witch demanded, her voice high and old, betraying the edge of fear. Harry recognized the voice; it was Mrs. Shay, the woman his mother had snubbed so harshly at the flat. Mad Eye Moody's words came back to Harry, and he felt fearful of what was about to happen. Lily was not revealing herself. _Why is she not showing herself?_

Mrs. Shay's dark form turned on the spot in an exaggerated pre-step to Apparition, a step most adepts found unnecessary with experience. Just like her high voice, it betrayed her fear. Harry felt beginnings of pity and alarm when Mrs. Shay turned and turned but went nowhere. The shields she had conjured stayed loyally around her.

"Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum!" she cast desperately, and Harry could see why, as he felt the undercurrent of fear in the air that was sharper than just one spread by night's darkness. A form finally shot from her wand, looking from afar like some winged creature, and straight at Lily.

Harry shouted but the Patronus simply hovered before Lily, shining its light on her ethereal form, making her ghostly eyes and dulled red hair shimmer in reflection. The Patronus was unable to do more than reveal the threat.

"Y-You?" Mrs. Shay croaked, shocked. "You can't use the protocol for your own gains, have you betrayed us? Why? Why?" She began rambling in panic as she tumbled over her retreating feet. She ran straight into an invisible wall. For a moment Harry saw the triangle on the ground light up in silver, and so did Mrs. Shay. She was trapped inside it – with Lily.

Lily said nothing and stood in her classical stance, as if she was merely a frozen apparition. Mrs. Shay ran to one vertex of the triangle, her four shields spinning around her in lazy pace. A guttural incantation came from her lips, followed by a lance of amber light that crashed into the vertex.

Purple rods of light jutted out of the vertex like spears, twisting and cutting through Shay's leading leg in response to her magic. The magical shields cracked as if they had been solid, unable to resist the triangle's defense coming from under them. Shay lurched to the ground, a moan escaping her.

Harry gave up caution, coming to stand at the borders of the triangle now shining silver on the earth, still under his Invisibility Cloak. He saw Mrs. Shay's face, contorted in pain, her eyes ugly with fear and hate. Her hair was gray and wet with the mud in which she had fallen. With shocking speed she turned over her stomach to point her wand at Lily, with another guttural incantation. Two looping forks of brown light pierced the air where Lily had been. In front of Harry's very eyes, Lily just blew away with the rain in the wind, and coalesced at another end of the triangle.

He saw Lily make her first wand movement in the duel, and although he couldn't see her lips move, Shay understood what she was doing. She began trying to roll but only succeeded in dragging herself, before thin ghostly fingers came up through like blossoming flowers and caressed her lumbering form – and she began screaming.

Harry felt blood rush from his face, as those hesitant fingers left thin strips of peeled cloth, leather, and human flesh behind. They were stripping Mrs. Shay, and the corpulent woman screamed from terror so primal that it made Harry's hands tremble.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Shay," Harry heard Lily; he hadn't seen her move but she stood above Shay's form being flayed. A slashing wand movement from her dashed the ghostly fingers, sending them away. Mrs. Shay jerked in the rain in a mad fit of agony and terror.

"Just remember, Shay, you sent our Order members, your _friends_, your _students_, to much worse than this. For the betrayal of the Order of the Phoenix, you are condemned to death. I have been invoked, I am you Grim-"

"Lily! No!"

"Avada Kedavra!" His mother's voice, which he had been cherishing inside his mind all day, turned alien and distant, as she cut off Shay's last words.

Harry watched her in abject terror; she looked like a painting of sorrow and disappointment, and before his eyes she blew away with the rain in the wind. The silver triangle dimmed in the earth.

Harry felt something hard and tightening by the second in his throat, but he didn't succumb to it. He stood dead quiet, like his mind was inside.

* * *

Lily used the strength of the Grim Protocol, flying with the rain-heavy wind, far away from where she had executed Mrs. Shay. She felt the magic immerse itself in her, a near sentient armor and weapon. It brought her a deep sense of surety that _she_ was the inevitable; if it hadn't been for Dumbledore's tempering warnings she might have thought herself invincible. But caution was as much a part of the Order's Grim as was its power and Lily embraced both.

She reflected on Mrs. Shay, not finding herself regretful, for she had betrayed those who trusted her. But it worried her that someone so high in the Order's hierarchy had fallen to Voldemort's side. Peter Pettigrew had been on the lowest rung in the Order, and yet his betrayal had cost them all so heavily, and her the most. And because of that she had no sympathy for traitors.

Seeing the aluminum awning of a tea shop, she swung to it, quietly commanding the stealth magic to take her. There, leaning against the unfinished concrete wall, she stood like an unfinished statue, all shades of gray. She ran her canine over her bottom lip as she thought over her strategy.

Executing Shay close to the Order's meeting place was the best idea she had come up with. When Shay was discovered, Moody's argument to move headquarters immediately would have enough weight for Dumbledore not to say no. It was the best she could do in the harrowing game Moody was playing: keeping Dumbledore unaware that Mrs. Shay had betrayed them and hadn't actually been killed by Death Eaters, while trying to find out exactly what secrets she had betrayed.

Lily made an exasperated noise, slamming a closed fist on the concrete wall. The blow bruised her pale knuckles and left an imprint in the wall; the Grim's strength was with her still.

She wished she could go back and duel Shay again, and really make her pay for the lives probably lost to her treachery, and more that were endangered. Fury came hard and fast; she did not hold to caution like she had when killing her, there was no need to be careful anymore. Anger made her eyes water, as always; she swiped at them impatiently, knowing people mistook her tears for a sign of weakness. She wished to whoever would hear that Moody would be able to do enough to counter the damage Shay had done.

Where she would have felt pity for her leader's loss before and indulgence for his inability to believe Shay could betray him, now she only felt disgust. If only he had trusted Moody when, she was sure, he had brought his concerns to him, she wouldn't have had to play in the shadows creating enough evidence to make Dumbledore act.

It was done, she decided, pushing off the rough wall against which she was leaning. With a whispered spell the Grim armor and weapon fell away from her like passing shadows. Her skin regained its color, her stone-hue eyes returned to their expressive green, and her hair regained its relative liveliness. It had been a long time since she had cared for herself, and so her hair's once luster was lost.

The thought softened her eyes, and her heart leapt a little at the thought that unlike every other time she had carried out the Protocol, there was someone waiting for her, for whom she would want to take care of herself. Someone whose concern and fear for her warmed her and made her feel alive. With a starved look she smiled nervously to no one in the world and Disapparated to Hogsmeade.

* * *

As dreary as the day was, one would easily mistake the time for late evening, instead truth of it being not yet fully noon. Lily had purposefully struck as soon as she could after finding Mrs. Shay had set her up. Most likely Death Eaters already knew where she lived; even though Mrs. Shay was magically bound from being able to betray the identity of the Grim Protocol's executor, there was always a chance things could go devastatingly wrong.

Lily calculated all the ways she could, even then, be in the eye of a narrowing noose; she kept to the back alleys, gray and wet as her cloak and robes. She blended with the scenery, seemingly another dejected witch going home, unless someone saw the quick movement of her eyes which betrayed her alertness. She came to the mouth of the alley and halted; from there she would have to give up shelter to dash in plain view over open road and ground to the Forbidden Forest's side. She finally pulled James' old Invisibility Cloak from within a faux lining of the deceptively worn cloak she wore, and cast the ever simple but most forgotten spell to mask her footsteps.

The ground beside the paved road leading from Hogwarts into Hogsmeade was muddy; the sparse grass did little to provide friction and she slipped and slogged through to the other side of the road. Carefully, she cleared the suggestion of a fence running the length of where the forest officially began. Common sense usually kept even the curious types away and a more robust barrier was thought pointless. Lily wondered what the good people of Hogsmeade would think of all the young boys and girls who braved the Forest for that little bit of privacy to be naughty - well, someone got injured or eaten every year, she conceded to herself.

Her feet slid on the gradual slope as she navigated through the thick trees and haphazard roots threatening to trip her. She paused for a moment, shooting one hand out to steady herself against a trunk. With the wand that had never left her hand she made a circular movement in the air, her lips in an 'O' as well. Delicately, she pulled the wand from where she had made the motion, and as she drew it close to her chest a white bubble began inflating around her. When the base of her wand touched her sternum, the bubble completely expanded to envelop her in an undulating globular shape. Lily gave her spell-work a satisfied nod and pushed forward, her wand hanging at her side, having successfully pinned the charm to herself. As she walked, the globular charm encasing her gently pushed back the low hanging branches and formed tough gripping surface under her feet when she stepped on loose earth and rock. In the nature bubble she quickly made the quarter-mile to the dark forlorn façade of the Shrieking Shack. Not for the first time, she weighed benefits of having the Shack unapproachable by Apparation in a three mile radius, to the sheer nuisance it was for her.

Casting the identifying charms and magicking the correct set of runes hidden from any but who knew they were there, she opened a crack in the wall, large enough to slip through. As she entered the Shack she hastily put away the Invisibility Cloak and dissipated the unique charm.

Standing in the Shack, she suddenly felt apprehensive of seeing him again. The night before she had stopped him from calling her 'mother'; she couldn't stand it, she just couldn't accept it. But she had told him he was hers, and what that meant even she didn't know, except there was some unfathomable truth to it – she clung to it, and ran up the steps two at a time.

Catching her breath for a moment outside the door, she ground the misgivings of logic deep down and stepped through with a tentative smile. The boy, _Harry_, she corrected herself, was sitting on the bed, his shoulders hunched and head bowed. He looked at her over his glasses then raised his head enough that she could see his bleak expression.

Her smile fell and worry filled her.

"I'm back."

Her voice sounded loud and ugly to her in the oppressive silence. Rain beat softly on the Shack, and when at any other time it would have been pleasant, then it was just intruding on the blanket of disquiet around the boy.

He nodded slowly, his eyes, _her_ eyes in his face, stayed glued to her. She stepped forward and he flinched. He tried to hide it, abruptly getting up and pretending to look out the cracks in the boarded window. Her face grimaced in pain at his reaction; she had inspired fear in her victims many times and knew the symptoms of it too well to be fooled by his act. She quickly hid her own reaction, mentally scolding herself for being too easily affected. Swallowing dry air, she made her way to him as obviously and non-threateningly as possible.

"See? There was nothing to worry about, and nothing to worry about now, I am fine," she appealed to him. Her features softened, taking on an almost pleading look as she found herself leaning to take his arm, or touch him in anyway – she let herself. She rested her palm on his covered arm and felt a shudder run though him. Her heart broke at his repulsion or fear, or whatever it was. She wanted to pull away, but she wanted to fight more, so she stayed there, with his skin warm through his clothes, and waited.

"I-" she began but stopped when she heard him choke. Stepping around so she stood in front of the boarded window, she saw his struggle to keep emotion from showing on his face. He had shut his eyes tightly, his hands had clenched, and he coughed shortly, trying to hide what might have been sobs.

Her heart clenched like his fists and she threw her arms around him, pulling his head on her shoulder, careful to not let skin touch skin. The top of his hair mussed against her cheek, and she felt him try to break from her. But she had decided to fight, and so she locked her hands behind him, making her grip stronger than him with her will alone. The more he struggled, shuddering in quick hiccoughs against her shoulder, the more she angrily held him to herself.

Finally a moment came when he stopped trying to break her embrace and he grabbed her back with the same ferocity as she was holding him. Her ribs ached as his arms encircled and squeezed her, and she felt his own ribs where she had him in the vise of her arms.

"You're hurting me," she said quietly, as if it didn't matter, and that he could go on doing it and she wouldn't be in pain.

"No, you are." His voice had been rough, as if coming from a bruised throat.

"I'll stop if you don't run away." She loosened her arms a little to lend credence to her words. He matched her, but did not leave her.

Lily eased her muscles, knowing she had won the fight. She moved her head back enough to see his face, which was wet and blank. He had obviously wept, but what that had to do with him being afraid of her she didn't know.

Instinct told her not to ask, but she did anyway. "What frightened you?"

He pulled away from her in answer; she let him go, feeling cold.

"I saw someone killed." He bowed his head, and her eyes grew wide at his words.

"Where? In Hogsmeade? Was it a Death Eater attack?" Her wand was in her hand and she threw a nervous glance behind her at the door.

His tone stayed flat. "No, it wasn't in Hogsmeade."

"Was it someone you knew?" she asked sympathetically.

"Yes, I knew the killer." And he looked at her in accusation.

Her mouth dropped open and color fell from her face. Then she closed off her expression, saying, "I told you not to follow me. I didn't see you."

"I'm good at not being seen. A lot like you, Shay never bloody saw you coming, did she? Never had a chance!" he spat out venomously.

Lily felt herself harden inside out. "You think I should have given that treacherous bitch a chance? Do you know what Death Eaters do to us when they get us? Do you know how many of our friends we've lost, not knowing how Death Eaters found them? You want to give me a damned lesson in morality. How dare you!" Lily pushed him into the wall and strode from him, fury thundering through her.

"You could have sent her to Azkaban!" Harry shouted.

"Azkaban? Azk – haha!" she laughed in disbelief. "Azkaban is a sieve through which every murdering rapist walks free. We had nothing to take her to court over. The Grim Protocol isn't invoked for every piece of dark filth. They call me when they can't touch someone, when they are too dangerous, or when, like for Shay, we are afraid of how their betrayal will break the scared sheep who follow Dumbledore."

"But _you_ didn't have to kill her," Harry muttered, deep sadness in his words. It cooled Lily's anger in a heartbeat.

"Why not me?" She shrugged, walking close enough to him so if she too hung her head they would touch.

For a long moment only the rain on the roof answered her.

"Because you're supposed to be good, a light witch, because you're meant to be a hero."

Lily wanted to scoff, she felt indignant at his ridiculous answer, but…his emotion was too raw for her to stay unfeeling and upset.

"I wouldn't be good if I sent someone else to do what is necessary, Harry. Want me to tell you about the first one I killed as a Grim?"

"No. I don't." He moved away from her.

"He was after my friend Susana. She's a pureblood who married a half-blood. She came from an old family, a lot of tradition. Dumbledore invoked the Grim Protocol, I was sent after him. I was a very angry woman, I wanted to hurt something, but I had this idea that if I meant to kill I would be just like them. So I worried about it, and was slow to get to Susana's home.

"When I got there to wait for him to show up, I found her husband, half mad. The Death Eater was a pureblood of high standing, above the law. He had defeated them in a duel, and then raped Susana in front of her husband. Kidnapped her, and we didn't see her till ten months later, when she showed up at her house.

"They made sure she was impregnated with the proper seed," Lily paused in her sotto voce narrative, catching his eyes, "you know, to ensure the purity of blood. Her husband wasn't a suitable stud. They kept her till she carried the baby and delivered him, then they threw her away. She doesn't know where that child is, her husband is dead, having tried to kill the Death Eater himself and gotten caught by Aurors instead. They threw him in Azkaban, convicted of attempted murder on an upstanding member of wizard society, and he died there," she derisively spat the words. "So I got over being good, and I did the right thing, the heroic thing, I killed the evil bastard like I was meant to from the beginning. What. Would. You. Do?"

"I don't know," he admitted, still standing listlessly under the weight of his sadness. "I just wish it wasn't you."

"Why the hell are you disappointed anyway?" Lily whirled on him.

"Because I-" Harry shouted back with equal anger. "I don't want you to be a killer! Everyone always said how perfect Lily and James were, how they were the most wonderful couple ever, how brave, noble, generous...well it isn't bloody _perfect_ of you to be murdering old women, is it?"

Lily sighed, feeling the words make her indignation and hurt disappear. "I am not evil, Harry. Isn't it the job of a hero to protect innocents?"

"Protect, not kill," Harry muttered.

Lily cursed. "You stupid, ignorant, naive, self-righteous idiot. Get over yourself!"

Harry winced at each insult as if she was hitting him.

She continued, "You said your parents were killed, right? What about him, what about Voldemort? Is it wrong to kill him?"

She could see his blood-drained face register shock. He made an ugly face like there was something sour in his mouth.

"No," he said, leaving a pregnant pause in which she saw him hesitate. But then he gained his courage, "You're right. I've tortured Death Eaters, put them under the imperius. I can't blame you."

Lily reeled from his confession, equally infuriated that he had the gall to accuse her of being evil, and shocked that he was capable of casting Unforgivables on mages as dangerous as the Death Eaters. She went to berate him for his double standards but stopped mid sentence; realizing she didn't want to win being right, she wanted to win _him_.

His vulnerable mien reminded her he was the miracle she had begged for. She took a deep breath, letting anger flow out of her.

"I understand." She made eye contact so he understood she accepted him. Then pleaded with him, "Please, stop being afraid of me."

Harry snorted quietly, and gave her an appraising look. "You're scary as fuck, Mu-Lily."

Lily was the one to wince this time, but seeing his weak smile, she reflected it back to him. "Thanks," she said tentatively, seeing if he was ready to joke about it.

He gave a disbelieving shake of his head but his smile grew wider, Lily was glad to see the tension leave him. Then she acted on what had driven her back to the Shack, she stepped to him, her wet boots squeaking comically, and almost timorously reached for him, waiting.

He didn't disappoint her; he accepted her gesture of need and hugged her. She smelled him in, breathing the familiar scent and felt herself melt into safety of home.

* * *


End file.
